


Faeted, Part Two

by megzseattle



Series: Faeted [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fae & Fairies, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human!Aziraphale, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Seelie Court, Teacher Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unseelie Court, fae!crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: Cover art byGoodOmensFicRecommendationson tumblr!Ezra and Lord Crowley continue to build a life together, as the world swirls on around them. Does a dark prophecy threaten everything?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Faeted [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648102
Comments: 601
Kudos: 224
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner





	1. Morning in the Dark Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra adjusts to life in the Dark Keep, Crowley receives a warning, and Anathema raises concerns about what's happening on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! I have been plotting and thinking about Faeted Part 2 for months now and I think it's time to start getting it out into the world! This story takes place a few months after the previous one ends, with Ezra in the middle of one of his six month stays in the Unseelie Court. 
> 
> The first two chapters are going up today and I am working on chapter 3! I hope you enjoy spending some time with our favorite literature professor and his dark and moody love. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Ezra woke up in the Dark Keep to the sound of his phone pinging obnoxiously every five seconds.

“Remind me why I made that thing work for you?” Crowley’s voice mumbled irritably from a dense tangle of black sheets.

“Because I asked you to?” Ezra said in amusement, rolling over to reach for the infernal white phone on the nightstand.

“Right, right…” Crowley sighed and rolled over, burying his head beneath a pillow.

Ezra took the opportunity to read through a few texts in peace and quiet. They were all from Anathema, of course. He hadn’t shared this number with anyone else before he’d left Earth at the end of the school term. He’d been dubious about whether he’d use the phone at all, but it had turned out to be rather nice to stay in closer touch with his home world while he was away. Anathema checked in just about daily, updating him on the general state of things in the village and the larger world, and he let her know he was doing just fine and hadn’t been consumed by a demon or fallen into a lava pit. It all worked out.

He gave an eye-popping yawn and tried to focus on the tiny screen and its multiple messages.

> _Morning you. Still happy in the underworld?_
> 
> _School term starts in two weeks. Still can’t believe you aren’t going to show up until winter. How can you leave me with these urchins alone?_
> 
> _Even worse, some of them are back early for ‘leadership’ training. Your little friend Adam among them. He seems to have taken an interest in me, is following me everywhere, asking lots of nosy questions_ **.**

Ezra raised an eyebrow in interest and sat up so he could more properly type back. He still found doing so uniquely challenging on that tiny little screen.

> _Morning! Remember you can always use your oak leaf to come visit if you just can’t face another term of teaching_ **.**

He thought back for a minute to the small, golden oak leaf that the Queen of the Seelie Court had given Anathema after their battle against the Gentry lord who had tried to kill him. Queen Griane had assured them the badge would allow Anathema safe passage into the fae realms if she ever wanted to visit. So far, she had not chosen to do so, but he did hope she would visit eventually. He thought for a moment and added one more comment.

> _Tell me more about Adam – what is he up to?_

His texts went off with a loud whooshing sound and there was blessed silence for a moment before a loud ping indicated the arrival of a reply.  
  


> _Wants to learn magic. Somehow, he heard that I’m the one to talk to about such things. He’s trying to arrange an independent study under the guise of writing a paper about pagan religions or something_ **.**

Ezra considered that.

> _Well, you have quite the reputation, my dear. Going to do it?_

He watched the little ellipses that indicated Anathema was typing.

> _Most likely. It’s the best chance of something interesting happening this term, by far._

“Enough,” muttered Crowley, rolling over and grabbing Ezra by the front of his nightshirt. “Tell the witch to sod off. Get back over here and keep me warm.”

He switched it off and complied.

\--

“I think it’s time you had some duties around here,” Crowley said in an aside during that day’s petitions and the presence chamber. He was sprawled insolently on his large obsidian throne, Ezra perched on the arm rest beside him. Crowley took great delight in running a hand down his back and letting everyone know that the human was his. He noted some envious looks from one or two of his lords, and at least one minor gremlin who eyed Ezra somewhat hungrily. He made sure to catch the eye of that creature and do his best to terrify them through gaze alone. It quivered gratifyingly and then disappeared in a hurry.

“What did you have in mind?” Ezra said.

“Well, how about official scribe?”

Ezra looked unimpressed. “You want me to be your glorified secretary?”

“No,” Crowley said, “I just thought it would be good to have a record of court proceedings and settlements and disagreements…” He waved a hand. “Most of these morons can’t write.”

“I also know you can wave a hand and a scroll appears with all of the days proceedings spelled out in it,” Ezra sniffed. “In fact, I’m fairly certain that’s what you do every day. I’ve seen the scrolls.”

Crowley frowned. “Must you always contradict me?”

Ezra gave him a prim little smile. “Only when you’re being ridiculous.”

“Okay, fine,” Crowley snapped, glaring at the creatures still waiting in line. “Then you’ll just have to officially become the prince consort.” 

Ezra gaped at him. “What in the world –”

Lord Crowley motioned at the vaguely female-looking figure waiting its turn and it stalked forward. Ezra found himself temporarily distracted from the snarky almost-proposal he’d just received as he took in the rather frightening creature – she was clothed in a black fur cloak over long gray robes, and had antlers that were shaped like tree branches coming out of either side of her head. She carried some kind of gnarled staff made from a sapling, and her rheumy gaze was nonetheless piercing as it brushed across Ezra and settled on the prince.

“Greetings, Lord Crowley,” the creature said, her voice deep and sibilant like algae-ridden water sliding over a rock. “I bring tidings from the bog witches on the southern borders.”

Crowley made a gesture that, for him, was somewhat respectful. “Greetings to you, ancient one. How is it with you and your sisters?”

“There have been strange signs in the waters these last three moons,” she said. “I bring you warning.”

Crowley motioned to Beelzebub, who was lurking nearby as always. “Show my guest to the private audience room. We will hear her alone.”

Ezra looked at Crowley, concerned. “Everything all right?”

Crowley nodded briskly. “Of course. But one thing I’ve learned is you never want anyone else to hear warnings of trouble. Might reveal a weakness or give ideas to the wrong parties.” He looked around. “You stay here – I’ll tell you about it later.”

\--

Lord Crowley and Beelzebub sat across from the bog witch in the private audience chamber, arrayed around a table of solid obsidian on which were various gilded jugs of wine and plates of delicacies. The witch ignored the offerings. Crowley found himself not wanting to know what kind of things the creature across from him might deign to eat.

Because politeness was of the utmost importance when dealing with creatures with her level of power, he did his best to be diplomatic.

“You and your sisters are renowned for your vigilance and wisdom,” he said, steepling his fingertips together in an ancient sign of respect. “You have always served the realm well.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgement, then fixed those milky eyes on him in a way that sent a chill through him. “I have little time for pleasantries,” she said calmly. “I bring news.”

The prince raised an eyebrow. “Please,” he said, “go ahead.” 

“We have seen portents of that indicate that a new prophetess is arising, one who will bring great instability to your reign,” the creature said in her silky voice. “The ways will quake beneath her. Much could be lost.”

Crowley leaned back and thought that one over. “Do you know who or where this being is?” he asked.

“She is hidden to us, now,” the witch said. “It is difficult even to pinpoint what realm she is in. But she is coming.”

Crowley and Beelzebub exchanged a look of quiet alarm. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked.

“That is all the information we have at this time,” the creature said. “We will continue to watch and listen.” 

\--

With Crowley gone, Ezra hopped off the edge of the throne and looked around. The room was large and cavernous, filled with dark grottos and torches that blazed boldly at intervals. The floor was highly polished obsidian, inlaid here and there with gems the size of goose eggs. Two large stalactite-like pillars led the way to the dais that held the throne, that was clearly made to look as intimidating as possible – the dais was held up by carved figures that were monstrous to look at, snapping and salivating at unseen foes, and sharp and dangerous steps led up to the base of the large obsidian seat that Crowley preferred to survey his subjects from.

Ezra walked down the steps and assessed the room. He’d gained something of a reputation in his battle with Gabriel and his henchman; while he hadn’t been the one to kill the gentry lord, it was well known that he’d defeated both of the Puksos twins and at least participated in Gabriel’s death without accruing the usual Fae doom that would typically accompany such an action. Most of the court gave him wide berth at this point, or at least failed to underestimate him. It was useful.

He saw the familiar figure of Lord Hastur across the room and gestured to him.

“Hello human,” Hastur said, bowing in a way that managed to be both mocking and friendly. “Bored?”

“No,” Ezra said mildly, “but I’ve been looking for you and Ligur. I brought you something from the human world that I think you might like.”

Hastur blinked, his pitch-black eyes registering surprise and a smidgeon of suspicion. “Is it… something horrible? Bunnies or flowers or something?”

Ezra stifled a smile. “No. It’s a gift. Meet me in the records room in an hour or so and I’ll show it to you, okay?”

Hastur bowed again and went off to find Ligur. This required some discussion. Gifts were serious business in the fae world, whether you were on the side of light or darkness. This would require serious strategy.

\--

Ezra had a few minutes before Hastur and Ligur arrived to set up the records room for what he’d envisioned. He hung a white sheet on one wall and set up the battery-operated projector he’d worked so hard to find. Of course, he could have brought an electric one and just had Crowley use magic to make it work, but he found he didn’t quite want to share this with his partner. He probably wouldn’t approve.

He carefully unwrapped the data stick that Anathema had helped him transfer several DVDs onto and popped it into the slot on the back of the projector. He was fiddling with the remote control when a shuffle behind him let him know his guests had arrived.

“Human,” Ligur muttered, looking nervous. “What’s this about a gift?” He and Hastur scuttled around him and took a seat at the table, blinking worriedly at the bright screen.

Ezra smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing important. I just thought you two might enjoy seeing some horror movies from Earth. For your research, into what we find scary.”

Hastur coughed into his hand and then wiped it on his shirt. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mumbled. “But… whut’s a movie?”

Ezra made a shushing gesture and walked over to lower the lights, then hit play on the remote control. “It’s like a book, but in pictures you watch,” he said, as the title screen for Creepshow appeared on the screen. “I brought you this and several others, all considered classics of human horror anthologies. You’ve got Creepshow, the Twilight Zone movie, and Tales from the Crypt.”

The first movie began to roll and both Hastur and Ligur leaned forwards, entranced, as the action began. Ezra stood back and watched them for a while, answering the occasional question, until he had them convinced that it was just a picture and not real, and then he slowly crept back to his rooms to let them be.

The encounter put a smile on his face for the rest of the afternoon.

\--

Ezra was surprised the next day when his phone rang instead of buzzed the way it usually did. Anathema generally preferred texting to calling, as did he – much more genteel to communicate in writing, he thought.

Anathema, he mouthed to Crowley, who had prised himself up off the mattress with a look of inquiry. Crowley nodded and flopped back down onto the bed, where he resumed snoring within seconds.

“Hello?” he said, pressing the phone close to his ear and stepping out onto the balcony outside the master bedroom where it was quieter.

“We have a problem,” Anathema said. 

“What kind of a problem?”

“It’s Adam,” she said. “Something is not right with him.”

Ezra sat down hard on one of the gilt chairs. “Is he sick? Is he hurt? What’s happening?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she said. “Actually, he’s unexpectedly powerful.”

“Well that hardly sounds like an emergency.”

“Don’t you pooh-pooh me,” Anathema snapped. “I’m telling you, he’s more powerful than he should be. I’m not one hundred percent sure he’s fully human.”

Ezra scoffed. “What? That hardly makes sense. He’s just a boy! I’ve had him in my classes for several years now. He’s – he’s definitely human.”

“Believe me, there’s something strange going on,” she insisted. “You and Crowley need to come up for a visit and meet with him and me. Can you come up this weekend?”

Ezra rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I will talk to Crowley about it and let you know, my dear. Try to hold on until then.”

\--

“She said what?” a sleepy Crowley mumbled.

“She said she thinks one of my former students isn’t quite human, and she thought you and I ought to take a look at him.”

“What am I, interdimensional child protection services?” Crowley groused. But nonetheless he agreed to go in two days’ time.

Crowley made sure to settle all his court business for a few days and leave Beelzebub with instructions before they headed up to Earth the following Friday. He found himself with a surprising spring in his step as he headed back from the great hall to his quarters to collect Ezra and get going. Was he … actually happy about returning to Earth?

The Prince shook his head to banish the thought. He was fey. He belonged here and here alone.

Still, it was good to get out of work occasionally.

“Angel, you ready?” he shouted as he swung through the hidden doorway behind his outer office into their private quarters. 

Knowing his angel, he checked the kitchen and eating area first, with no luck, but found him on his next stop – their private library. Ezra spent a good deal of his time here, slowly trying to work his way through some of the books on Fae history and warfare. Crowley stood at the door, unobserved, and watched as Ezra thumbed his way through several books he’d laid out on the table.

“Looking for some reading for the road?” he asked slyly, grinning as Ezra jumped. “Cuz I hate to state the obvious, but it’s a very short trip through a portal.”

“No, no,” Ezra said, smiling. “I was just wondering if possibly I could loan one of these to Anathema.”

Crowley strolled in and looked. “History of Magic,” he read. “Bog spells and incantations. Fortune Telling for the Faint-Hearted. You think Anathema needs to brush up on her skills?”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “No, I just think she’d be rather interested, is all!”

Crowley hrmed. “Well unfortunately, she can’t borrow them. Fae books can’t shift planes. If you tried to take them up there, they’d revert back home and you’d find yourself holding a pile of leaves or a handful of mud, and that’s if the portal pixies were in a good mood that day.”

“Oh,” said Ezra, deflated. “Wait, portal pixies?”

Crowley grinned and headed out of the room. “Come on, we need to get going. They’ve got our ride all saddled up.”

Ezra put down the books with a last reluctant look and followed him. “Wait. Portal pixies??” he cried to Crowley’s retreating back. “Seriously?”


	2. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting between Lord Crowley and Adam does not go as expected.

They made their way to the Prince’s private portal, heavily guarded by a series of creatures who looked, Ezra thought, somewhat like trees, if said trees were deeply evil and had been augmented with claws and the ability to run really fast. Ezra stopped dead at the site of them – and they appeared equally nonplussed, staring at him with a general air of menace.

“What are those?” he asked Crowley under his breath.

“Kind of like dryads,” Crowley said. “Don’t worry, they work for me.”

Dryads, Ezra thought, were nothing like these monsters. He had heard of dryads, lovely peaceful forest spirits, the denizens and guardians of trees. He’d even seen drawings of what various humans thought they looked like – usually they were beautiful and scantily clad women in shades of green, merging partially with a tree trunk. These creatures, with their yellow, glowing eyes, looked like they ate those kinds of creatures for lunch.

Crowley walked up and spoke a few words with a hand gesture, and the dryads parted to let him into the circle behind them.

“Uh, all right then,” Ezra said nervously, following him. He kept an eye on the largest of them the whole way through, but the creature, mollified by Crowley, ignored him entirely.

In the middle of the ring of tree creatures was a small pool, brilliant emerald, that offered no reflection of the sky or trees around it.

“Welcome to my personal portal,” Crowley said expansively. “Shortest trip to Earth there is.”

Ezra eyed it. “So, what, do we just, dive in?”

Crowley laughed. “No,” he said, stretching out an arm. “You take my hand and we carefully step in. You must keep your mind completely blank and let me do the driving, so to speak. Only one of us can choose a location and it’s attuned to me.”

Ezra frowned. “I’m not good at keeping my mind blank,” he fretted. “That’s like telling someone not to think of a purple crocodile. All that does is guarantee that a purple crocodile is all they’ll be able to think of.”

Crowley huffed and circled to face him. He took Ezra by either shoulder and gripped him firmly. “Relax,” he instructed. “You’re fine.” He leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. “You’ve been through this portal before. You know how to do it. In fact, go ahead and _think_ about a purple crocodile if you want. It’s not like we can go there.”

Ezra let out a breath and relaxed. Crowley took his hand and pulled him to the edge of the pool.

“Ready?” he asked.

Ezra nodded, and following Crowley’s lead, they both stepped into the puddle.

Ezra had only been through this portal once before, on his most recent return to the Fae, but even with his small experience level, it seemed like this trip took a lot longer than it should. There was a whirling and a dizziness he didn’t recall feeling on the last trip, and a sensation of moving very slowly through murky water. He held his breath and focused on the sensation of Crowley’s hand in his, closing his eyes and just waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Until finally, they were through, expelled on the lane outside of his cottage. Ezra let out his held breath in a rush and stumbled a little, catching himself and noting that Crowley looked equally perturbed. 

“Is it supposed to feel like that?” he asked. “It didn’t the last time.”

“No,” said Crowley, looking a little worried. “It didn’t.” He made a mental note to investigate it. Portals had been known to degrade now and then. Perhaps a little maintenance was in order.

\--

After a quick check in at the state of Ezra’s home, they set out to walk to Anathema’s cottage, about twenty minutes down the road towards the village. Crowley took a moment to admire it when they arrived.

“Jasmine Cottage,” he read from the small placard hanging from the gate. It was a tidy, white-washed stone cottage with an old fashioned thatched roof, and flower beds in front positively dripping with heather, lavender, thyme, angelica, and freesia.

Anathema met them at the front door and quickly ushered them inside.

“Thank you for coming!” she said. “I know I’m probably overthinking this, but I just get the feeling that something is wrong here.”

Crowley nodded magnanimously. “Well, I tend to never overlook the intuition of a witch.” He grinned. “Also, I’m happy for any reason to get out of a few council meetings anyways.”

She grinned back at him and set about making tea. “Adam will be by in a while. In the meantime, Ezra, I’ve got a pile of your more critical mail here that you can sort through and tell me what to do with.” She shoved a large pile of envelopes his way.

Ezra sighed and pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket. “Oh, if I must,” he said resignedly.

“I’m going to go check the warding around your property, witch girl,” Crowley said, standing up and letting himself into the front garden.

Anathema snorted. “He’s a bit overbearing sometimes, isn’t he?”

Ezra looked up and saw the look of affection on her face, and let it go. For one thing, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Adam arrived before Ezra was halfway through the post. He dropped his bags and his jacket by the front door and came bounding through to the kitchen, where he greeted his professor enthusiastically and began peppering him with a thousand, rapid-fire questions about his so-called travels this summer. He was clearly still dubious about Professor Fell’s story.

Ezra did his best to answer as vaguely as possible, turning the conversation at every opportunity to Adam and what he had been doing since they last met, and what he was studying with Anathema. This conversational feint seemed to work well, as Adam, always a chatterbox, took off on a long-winded explanation of his independent study project about magic as it might be view through the laws of thermodynamics.

“So, where’s this other guy then?” Adam asked with the bluntness that only early teens can possess. “Your… you know… friend.” 

“Oh, Crowley’s out in the back,” Ezra said. “Let me just fetch him.”

“You head out,” Anathema said, “and we’ll meet you in the garden in a moment.”

She set about pouring more lemonade while Ezra headed. He found Crowley finishing a thorough check of all the wards on the defensive circle he and Anathema had put up the previous year.

“Dearest,” he said, “Adam’s here. Do come in and say hello.”

Crowley straightened up from where he was kneeling in the back corner, fiddled once more with an ordinary-looking rock that wouldn’t draw anyone else’s attention, and then placed it carefully and exactly in the right position. Then he stood up and dusted the grass off his knees.

“There he is,” Anathema said, coming out the kitchen door with a plate of cookies. Adam followed her with a tray with four cups and a pitcher of lemonade on it. He headed towards the small table on the patio.

He was a few steps short of the table when Crowley stepped into sight.

“So,” the prince said, “you’re the famous Adam are y---” he broke off as Adam looked up and met his eyes.

Chaos erupted.

Adam shouted and jumped back, dropping the tray in the process and shattering all four glasses. The pitcher, still intact, rolled onto its side and spilled everywhere.

Crowley staggered back with a hand to his chest, and dropped into a defensive crouch with his hands curled and ready to fight. His chest heaved with the shock of what just happened. 

The two stared at each other, horrified.

“What – what is going on here?” Ezra shouted, putting himself between Crowley and Adam. Anathema did the same, shielding Adam with her body.

“I – I don’t know!” Adam said. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Like hell you didn’t do anything!” Crowley snarled. “I know defensive magic when I feel it!”

“I didn’t!” Adam shouted. “I swear!”

“Now, now,” Ezra said, his heart racing. “Let’s all calm down just a bit here. Adam, you have a seat over there,” he said, gesturing at a wicker chair on the far side of the patio. He steered Crowley towards a bench that was set underneath the crabapple tree. “You sit here. Everyone take a few deep breaths.”

To his surprise, all parties listened.

“I didn’t do it,” Adam said plaintively to Anathema, who was fussing over him. “You know me, I can barely even summon a circle at this point. I just looked at him and – bang! – something happened!”

“I believe you, Adam,” she said, looking pointedly across the garden at the two men. “He doesn’t have that kind of capability. I’d know if he did.”

Crowley stopped panting, regaining control of himself. Ezra sat down next to him, gripping his love’s knee tightly, both for reassurance and out of a need to keep a hold on him.

“Well I didn’t cause it either,” Crowley finally said. “I was just saying hello. And if it wasn’t either of us, what was it?”

Anathema stood and pulled a crystal on a chain out of the inside of her blouse. It was a gorgeous, shiny black, tower shaped with one end carved to an eight-sided point. “Tourmaline,” she said, holding it in her left hand and concentrating briefly to set an intention. “Expels physical, energetic, and psychic threats.”

Crowley scoffed but watched as she swung the pendulum in a small circle in front of her while moving around the patio and particularly focusing on the area where the two had been standing when they met. She went back and forth in a grid pattern, multiple times, before stopping and looking up at them with a frown.

“Well it’s not the location,” she said. “I can’t sense any spells or traps or triggers here in the garden that would have affected the two of you.”

Crowley snorted and stood up. “You won’t mind if I double check, witchgirl,” he said.

Anathema made a “go ahead” gesture, then watched as he strode over to the same area and extending his hands while he turned in a slow circle.

He shrugged. “You’re correct. Nothing here. No residue of something that _might_ have been here a minute ago.” He looked at Adam, who he had to admit, looked like nothing so much as a slightly terrified thirteen-year-old boy.

“Professor Fell,” Adam said. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Ezra walked over to him and took his hand. “I do, my boy,” he said. “I don’t believe you intended to hurt Crowley. I also know what we all just saw was real, whether it came from you or not.”

“Perhaps we should try it again?” Crowley asked. “I mean, we’re making eye contact _now_ and nothing is happening.”

Ezra and Anathema frowned. “We don’t know for sure what just happened,” Anathema said. “It might not be safe.”

“Give him your tourma-thingy,” Crowley said impatiently. “If it’s so protective, let it do its job.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow and then handed the long pendant to Adam, who took it and clutched it nervously in one hand. He stepped forward hesitantly until he was just a hands-breadth away from the Prince.

The two stared at each other, tense and uncertain, and then Crowley slowly held out a hand and offered it to Adam. He felt it as Ezra stepped closer behind him, ready to protect his love if necessary. 

Adam hesitated, then took the offered hand in his. They all let out a collective whoosh of breath when the world did not explode.

“Hello Adam,” Crowley said, shaking his hand solemnly. “Name’s Crowley.”

“Nice to meet you,” the boy said dutifully. “I’m Adam Young.”

\--

“What on earth was that?” Ezra said, after Adam was seen safely back to his dorm with cookies in tow and assurances that he was not injured or damaged in any way.

Crowley frowned. “I have no idea, but it was definitely defensive magic.”

Anathema leaned her elbows on the table. “You can see what I mean about him, right?” she asked. “Something about him is not quite what you’d expect.”

Crowley nodded. “I think he might be a changeling,” he said grimly.

“A changeling?” Ezra said. “Those really exist?”

“Not for a long time now,” Crowley said, “but it used to be a common thing. My people would see something they thought they needed in one of yours and exchange a fey baby for a human baby in the middle of the night.”

“We’ve all heard those stories,” Anathema said. “Don’t the changelings usually sicken and die before they grow up?”

Crowley shrugged. “I believe so. The human children didn’t do very well with us either, but the creatures involved often didn’t care about that. Ultimately, though, when we realized how low our birthrates were becoming, we realized we couldn’t just throw away our own like that anymore. The process was outlawed ages ago at a fey council.”

“So, if Adam is a changeling,” Ezra said, “does that mean there’s a human Adam languishing in your realms somewhere?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, “but we’re going to need to find out.”

\--

The trip home was uneventful, with the portal offering them no trouble. Prince Crowley called a meeting when he got home with his top lieutenants to address a few points. Ezra was invited to sit in, of course, but he chose instead to spend the afternoon poring over a thick stack of books he’d brought back, looking for clues into what could be happening to Adam.

“We’ve got some strange business happening up in the daylight realms,” Crowley said. He sat back more comfortably in the golden throne he used as a desk chair. Seated across from him, Beelzebub had their usual look of boredom on their face, Ligur was attentive as always, and Hastur was – well, being Hastur. He appeared to be picking at something on his disgusting trench coat. “I believe we have a changeling in play.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“A changeling?” Beelzebub echoed. “That’s so passé. We haven’t exchanged a baby in at least a millennium.”

“Nonetheless,” Crowley said. “I saw him. I can’t confirm for sure that he’s a changeling, but I will guarantee you that he’s not fully human.”

The Prince filled them in on the interaction with Adam, without revealing the location or the name of the human child. It wasn’t that he was suspicious of his inner circle, really, but the habits of caution were deeply embedded in the Lord of the Unseelie. He’d learned over the years to reveal as little as possible to as few people as possible. It was a habit that had served him well, and one he was constantly fighting against in his relationship with Ezra. Funny how the communication tactics of running a court where nowhere near as successful in a loving partnership.

“Could’ve been the Seelie court,” Hastur offered. “You sis might know something about it.”

“Good point,” Crowley said. “I’ll check in with her after this. In the meantime, I want all of you to reach out to your sources about whether anyone on our side has exchanged a child behind our back in the last hundred years.”

“And what about the unaffiliated fey?” Ligur said.

Crowley sighed. The unaffiliated fey – also known as the solitary fey – were always a problem. They were mostly woodland and water creatures who had chosen to align themselves with neither the Shining nor the Dark court, and as such refused to be bound by any form of fae law. They tended to be malignant, evil-doing creatures, often preying on humans in ways that neither court allowed.

“Yes, it could very well be them,” he conceded. “Who has contacts among them?”

Beelzebub shifted slightly in their seat. “There’s a puca among them who’s not unbearable,” they sighed. “I could make contact and see what they know.”

“Good, do it.” Lord Crowley stood up, signaling an end to the meeting. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, “one of the portals seemed to be acting strangely today. Keep an eye on the entry and exit points and let me know if you note anything else unusual. That will be all.”

He stood up and began straightening his papers up as Beelzebub left the room, followed closely by Hastur and Ligur, who paused by the door and began a whispered and urgent conversation.

“Do you two have something more to say?” Crowley asked pointedly.

They exchanged glances. Ligur, always the more cautious of the two, pushed Hastur forward a step or two. “We were just wondering, my lord, what you planned to do about Ezra.”

Crowley stepped around to the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “And what exactly does that mean?” he asked sharply. “Why would I need to do _anything_ about Ezra?”

Hastur shook his head, clearly intimidated. “No, no, my lord, we mean no harm or disrespect,” he assured him hurriedly. “It’s just that – well, he’s _mortal._ ”

Crowley froze. His voice when he spoke was low and thrumming with power. “What… are you suggesting.”

Hastur looked at the many stoppered bottles lining the walls and appeared to lose his powers of speech all together. He looked helplessly at Ligur.

“It’s just, my Lord,” Ligur said, stepping in smoothly, “that there are rumors. About methods to extend the human life span. Sometimes indefinitely.”

Crowley eyed them both without comment, still absolutely vibrating with a sense of imminent threat.

“We wondered if you’d like us to research them,” Ligur finished, bowing low. “That’s all. We… the human brought us gifts. We are in his debt. We thought we might be able to repay it.”

Crowley knew when it was time to end a conversation. “I will think on it,” he snapped. “Now begone.”

He used a little power to slam the door behind them as they scurried away.

Gifts? He went off to find Ezra and see what this was all about.


	3. Arguments and Reconciliations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflicts arise, and Prince Crowley reaches out to his sister.

Crowley found Ezra in their private library, scribbling in one of his notebooks while poring through a book. He paused in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and took a moment to try to dissect the combined feelings of fondness and irritation he was feeling. After a moment, he cleared his throat loudly.

Ezra jumped and his pen skittered across the page. He looked up and smiled. “Crowley!” he said, putting down the offending pen and closing the book. “You’re back from your meeting!”

“I am,” Crowley said, keeping his face neutral. “And we need to talk.”

Ezra frowned. Crowley’s posture was rigid, which never indicated anything good. He hoped it was just work stress and nothing serious.

“Bad meeting?” Ezra asked, pointing to the seat across from him in invitation.

Crowley ignored the gesture, and instead wandered over to the immense fireplace along the back side of the room. He put a hand on the mantel and stared into the flames before turning dark eyes onto Ezra.

“Yes, it was, and I’ll tell you about that in a while,” Crowley said tersely. “But first, what’s this I hear about _gifts_?”

Ah, thought Ezra, that explained things.

“It’s nothing really – I just brought some horror movies from home for Hastur and Ligur to watch,” he said. “They’ve been so interested in researching more of what humans are actually afraid of that I thought it would please them to no end to see our scary movies.”

Crowley sighed. “Ezra, you pixie-headed idiot, gifts are a serious issue among the fae. How do you not know that by now?”

Ezra blinked. “What in the name of – I just gave them something!”

“You created a debt,” Crowley spat. “A rather large one. One they will need to find a way to discharge.”

“Well I give _you_ things all the time,” Ezra said defiantly, “and it’s never been a problem.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That’s different. You’re in a relationship with me. There is mutual assumption of give and take between us. It doesn’t incur the same price.”

Ezra tried to hide his growing annoyance. “So, what exactly is the irredeemable error I’ve made here?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley drawled, bristling with sarcasm. “You just brought something from _another world_ and gave it to two of my high council members? Who already probably feel beholden to you because of your position and status, and now you’ve singled them out with a massive and fantastical gift?”

“It’s just a couple of films!” Ezra protested. “And on a data stick, they don’t even have liner notes! That’s a very shoddy gift where I come from.”

“It’s not! It’s a thing that no one here has ever seen before,” Crowley said. “Moving pictures that talk and tell a story? It’s like if you were suddenly gifted at home with a magic fountain that created gold nuggets. It’s a pretty big deal. Word spreads. It puts me in a position of having implicitly approved of it, and potentially creates jealousy and discord in my court.” 

Ezra thought for a moment. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. “So, it’s a protocol thing.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “And furthermore, it’s a slap in the face to me. You should have told me about it first; I could have helped you couch it in a way that wouldn’t create the same sense of encumbrance.”

“Encumbrance!” Ezra protested. “Hastur and Ligur like me! We’re friends!”

“They _do_ like you, but that doesn’t make them your friends,” Crowley said, aware he was being cruel. “Fae are hierarchical beings, Ezra, beyond all else. They may enjoy your company, but you are first and foremost their boss’s partner, I guarantee you.”

Ezra sat back down, stung.

“I – I can talk to them,” he said quietly. “Tell them it was just a loan, and that they will have to return it.”

Crowley made a rude sound. “Honestly, angel. That’s even worse. Giving a gift and then taking it back? These are not humans you’re dealing with.”

“Well I’m trying!” Ezra snapped. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop doing random things without talking to me!” Crowley shouted. “Is that so much to ask?”

His voice reverberated off the stone walls for a long moment as they stared unblinking at each other. Finally, without another word, Ezra stood up and stiffly walked out of the room.

Crowley ran a hand down his face in frustration. He hadn’t meant to shout, but honestly sometimes he abandoned all hope that his love would ever adapt to their ways. He’d finally managed to stop thanking people all the time and nearly getting himself killed for his efforts, but it seemed every time he turned around, the human was finding some new way to cross lines that every fey knew since childhood.

He kicked a log into the fire and watched it blaze up, then stalked out of the room. He needed to reach his sister, Griane. Let Ezra have his snit for the time being. He’d try to make it up to him later.

\--

 _Git_ , Ezra thought to himself as he set off up the winding stairway in one of the two towers attached to their suite. _Stuffy, uptight lord and master of the realm._

The work of going up what seemed to be a thousand steps was sufficient distraction from his irritation, and he found himself gasping for breath by the time he got to the top, where the stairs opened up into a viewing area looking down over the chasm and the rest of the keep. Far below him, he could see the lava chasm glowing an angry red beneath the bridge to the castle gate, and he could spot the glimmer of multiple fires in dark caves around the edges. From this height, it was even more stunning, and he stared out at the view, transfixed.

He leaned on the rail and let his mind rove back to their conversation. He had to admit Crowley had some right to be irritated; he should have realized that even the simplest actions had unexpected reverberations here. The thought made him feel foolish and embarrassed. Every time he thought he had adjusted to the social mores of living in the Unseelie Court, something new and dangerous arose.

He sighed. No wonder Crowley was upset. Was he failing him as a partner? Did he really fit into Crowley’s life the way they’d both hoped? The thought filled him with a cold dread. Perhaps he needed a tutor of some kind, to fill him in on fae protocol. His thoughts wandered back to Madame Tracy, who had been so helpful to him. Would she be willing to visit him here? Would it be safe for her to do so? He made a mental note to bring it up with Crowley, as soon as they were speaking again.

\--

Crowley’s sister Griane responded to his request for a meeting almost instantly, instructing him to meet her at their usual rendezvous point within the hour. Crowley made his preparations, left Ezra a quickly scrawled note about his whereabouts, and transported himself to the highly-shielded mountain clearing where they met for unofficial conversations.

He arrived before his sister and set to pacing the perimeter of the circle as he waited.

Lady Griane appeared shortly. Always one for metamorphosis, she was dressed in flowing white and had altered her skin to a deep ebony today, with her usual dark brown hair now silver and plaited into a long braid embedded with flowers and moss. She stepped towards him, hands extended, and greeted him warmly as they exchanged pleasantries and the traditional signs of peace and parley.

“Hi sis,” Crowley said, smirking. “Love the new look.”

She looked him over, still in deepest black, with a pointy-edged cloak that sported the occasional metal bit to catch the unwary by surprise. His orange hair spilled over his shoulders, curled and unruly as it ever was.

“And you are as you always are,” she said drolly. “What a surprise that is.” 

Unlike their last visit, Crowley was unsurprised this time to find that she arrived without guards. The events of the previous winter with Gabriel seemed to have thawed the tensions between them. He hoped that would last.

“So, what have you called me here for, brother?” she asked, sitting down on an ornate bench that appeared to have grown from the ground rather than been carved by any creature. A small cloud of illusory butterflies fluttered around the hem of her gown.

Crowley sat beside her. “I believe we may have a changeling at play in the human realm,” he said simply.

Griane looked affronted. “Such things have been forbidden since you and I were quite young. How would that be possible?”

“There is a boy in Ezra’s home village who appears to not be fully human. The witch discovered him and called Ezra and I up to meet with them. When he and I met – well, it was unusual.” He gave Griane a quick summary of the explosive reaction Adam had had to first making eye contact with him.

Griane sat silently, pondering that. “It is said that in the old days, changelings could be cleverly hidden, even from our own kind, and were protected with spells. There are tales of various claimants to disputed thrones being hidden in such a way on Earth. What do we know of the boy?”

Crowley thought back to what Ezra had told him. “He’s thirteen. His father is the headmaster at the school Ezra works at, and his mother is dead, I believe in childbirth. He’s supposed to be bright. He was there when Ezra first went through the tor, and he’s been making hints about knowing he’s not really travelling for some time now.”

Griane nodded. “I see. A rather suspicious set of facts, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Crowley said, watching her closely. “I must ask, do you know of any human children in your court?”

“I do not,” Griane said, meeting his eyes without hesitation. “We have a few humans serving us right now, but they are all of age, and they are all returned before the curse of being here destroys them.”

“I have no humans in mine aside from Ezra,” Crowley said. “And, of course, Beez’s companion. But we would be looking for a human boy child. Brown hair, blue eyes. About fourteen years old.”

“There could be a child elsewhere,” Griane suggested. “Among the solitaries. Or they could be glamoured in some way, so that we don’t perceive them as such.”

“I have one of my council making contact with the water folk,” Crowley said. “I have fewer contacts among the forest groups.”

Griane fingered her gown thoughtfully. “I can help you there,” she said. “We must look into this more closely.”

They talked for a few more minutes, forming plans for their investigations, and then Griane stood up to leave.

“Very well, brother,” she said. “I will be in touch with what I learn. Pray you do the same.”

Crowley nodded. “Please don’t share the details of this,” he asked. “The child is – important to Ezra. One of his former students. I don’t want to have random fae popping up on Earth to investigate him until we know what we’re facing.”

Griane murmured her agreement, and then vanished.

\--

Hastur and Ligur sat in the records room, digging through reference books as well as their somewhat unique outlooks would allow. 

“Got one!” Hastur said triumphantly. “Write this’un on your list.”

Ligur frowned. “I thought you were keeping the list.”

Hastur grinned. “No, mate, my handwriting is atrocious.” He tapped his temple and winked. “My list is right up here.”

Ligur sighed and picked up the quill he’d been using. “All right, what did you find?”

“S’right here,” Hastur grunted, running a grubby finger down the page. “Where was it? Oh – here it is. Eating a mermaid!”

“Eating a mermaid??” Ligur said, looking ill.

“Eating a mermaid is supposed to give’m immortality,” Hastur stated proudy. Ligur frowned, then dutifully wrote it down. “How many is that now?”

“Three,” Ligur said. “Three mentions. Keep looking.”

Ligur turned back to the tome in front of him. He frowned when he heard a ripping noise, followed by chewing, from his partner.

“And STOP EATING THE BOOKS!” Ligur thundered.

“It’s how I retain information,” Hastur said, swallowing hard. “Specially when I’m tired. Couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

Ligur looked up. “Oh? Whyzzat?”

Hastur looked embarrassed. “That crypt keeper. Creepy little bastard, wasn’t he?”

Ligur smirked. “I wasn’t afraid in the least.”

“Betchu were,” Hastur snorted.

Ligur made a rude noise and returned to his work.

“Wanna watch another one later?” Hastur asked after a few minutes.

“You bet.”

\--

When Crowley returned from his meeting with Griane, he could no longer ignore the niggling sense of guilt that was befuddling him about Ezra. He checked in with the redcaps and with Beelzebub about anything that needed his direct attention, and then headed to their quarters to try to find the angel and see what he could do to smooth things over.

He found Ezra still up at the top of the tower, reading quietly at a small table. Crowley knew his footsteps on the stone stairs announced his presence long before he appeared, and he was unsurprised to find Ezra hadn’t looked up from his page.

“What’re you doing up here?” Crowley said lamely.

Ezra shrugged. “Nice view.”

Crowley pulled over a small stool and sat down himself. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, angel,” he said. “I was overly harsh. Again.” 

Ezra carefully placed a bookmark and looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said thickly, “if I’m not fitting into your world very well. I _am_ trying.”

Crowley winced and mentally cursed himself. How could he have made Ezra think that? “Ezra,” he said, scooping up one of his hands, “you’ve been around the fey for what, maybe eleven months total, and even that not continually? Your world and customs are entirely different than ours. You’re really doing remarkably well, despite what your ass of a partner may have to say. I’d probably do much worse on Earth.”

That got a small grin out of Ezra, but the human still looked sad, Crowley observed.

“I feel like I’ll never quite get it all,” Ezra murmured. “And I simply can’t live my life running every decision and instinct by you for permission. I’m not your pet.”

“No, you’re not,” Crowley said. “You’re your own person, or I wouldn’t love you so much. You know I think I fell in love with you that very first day you were here when you had the nerve to tell me off in my own apartment?”

Ezra laughed. “I thought you would probably kill me for that, after I’d calmed down.”

“Anyone else, I might’ve,” Crowley agreed, scooting his chair over closer to Ezra’s. “You’re absolutely essential to my life and happiness and well-being. Don’t ever think that you’re not. We will figure the rest of this out.”

Ezra blushed a little and gave that tremulous smile that had a way of stopping Crowley’s heart all together. “Perhaps we could go down and have a nightcap to seal our reconciliation?”

Crowley stood and held out a hand. “Sounds like a fine idea to me.” He paused to leer dramatically. “Perhaps in the bedroom?”

The thwap he received was both expected and lovingly exasperated, and he couldn’t fight the giant smile that broke over his face as he followed Ezra back down the stairs to continue making up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement so far! I'm so thrilled that you're reading and commenting! I'm finishing chapter 4 and will have it out in a few days!


	4. On Experimentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experiments, experiments -- Anathema begins to try to determine if Adam is part fae, and Ezra takes on an experiment of his own.

Over the next few days, Crowley brought Ezra fully up to speed on recent events, from the bog witch to his sister. The bog witch’s warning bothered them both, and Ezra spent more time trying to puzzle out the ramifications of it both on his own and with the help of texts to Anathema about possible prophecy-activity on earth.

He also continued his research into different methods humans used to test for whether a child was a changeling. Most of them were utterly barbaric, he found – holding a child over a fire in a shovel, placing them into a hot oven, or whipping them in the woods. The ones that weren’t outright abuse were laughably simple, such as cooking dinner in an eggshell or placing eggshells near the fire in an attempt to confound the changeling into speaking and revealing its true nature. Nonetheless, he dutifully recorded them all to send to his friend at home, who promised to try the ones that weren’t a crime.

His phone binged a few hours later.

> _Well, I tried boiling water in an eggshell in front of him, as you suggested._

He raised an eyebrow.

> _And??_
> 
> _Well he definitely thought I was insane, but he did NOT hop up indignantly and reveal his true form while announcing that it was the craziest thing he’d ever seen a human do. So, I guess that’s a bust._
> 
> _What’s next on the list?_
> 
> _Tricking him into washing with water steeped with foxglove seems to be the only one left that won’t get me prosecuted._

Ezra worried for a moment. Should he mention the obvious issue here? He knew he couldn't live with it if he didn't.

> _Don’t let him drink it! Poisonous, you know._
> 
> _I’m aware. Witch, remember?_

\--

“We’re invited to Beelzebub’s tonight for supper,” Crowley said that afternoon as he returned from court. “Would you like to go? It’s entirely up to you.”

“I’d like that,” Ezra said. “Haven’t seen Juliet in quite a while, and I recall they had quite a collection of books in there that I’d love to get a look at.”

Beelzebub showed them in at their front door and they sat down to a glass of wine in the apartment’s formal reception area. Juliet peeked in a time or two from around the corner, and Ezra tried to smile encouragingly, but she skittered away nervously each time, and he let it go for now. No point in spooking the girl.

As Crowley and Beelzebub got further into talking about work (something about Beez’s upcoming visit to his puca friend), Ezra asked if he might look at the bookshelves he’d seen in the study on their last visit. Beelzebub nodded and he strolled off to do so.

The study was just across the hall, lined with shelves filled with books, some of them in languages he couldn’t read, but some in familiar languages from his home realm. Aziraphale moved around the room idly, examining the titles and trying to discover a pattern in Beelzebub’s readings, which honestly appeared quite random. There were history books, etymology books, a surprisingly thorough collection of 19th century atlases that covered most of the globe, a few medieval bestiaries that he knew were quite rare, and surprisingly, a few books about anatomy and psychology that he suspected had been used in their attempts to help Juliet. He noticed a few pieces of paper sticking up out of one of them and was just about to pull it out and examine it more closely when a small sound in the far corner made him freeze.

It was Juliet, huddled in the corner and muttering to herself as she focused her attentions on a notebook she was held. She rocked slightly, holding a pencil as if she had never done so before, and moved it jerkily, making marks on the page.

“Hello Juliet,” Ezra said carefully. “What are you working on?”

Juliet started, then looked up at him with big eyes. “Words,” she said. “Or birds. I can’t remember.”

Ezra hadn’t seen Juliet in a while – but she looked essentially the same as the last time he’d seen her: younger than her two hundred years of presence in the Dark Court would imply, ropy chestnut hair in a tangle on her back, no part of her quite still at any time.

“Could I see?” he asked.

She hesitated, then held up the notebook in front of her, open towards him. Ezra leaned forward to examine it more closely. Mostly there were scratch marks, the occasional shape or letter, but there were places where she did appear to write a word or two consecutively. They were difficult to read, but he felt he could have puzzled them out if he’d had a closer look or if the notebook would hold still for more than a second or two.

Behind them, Beelzebub cleared their throat. “Juliet has been trying to write lately. She often becomezzz interested in new thingzzz, and this is her current… hobby. I give her whatever she asks for.” Beelzebub held out a hand to her, gently. “Come to dinner with uzzz.”

Juliet hesitated a moment, then tucked her notebook away behind a large vase and followed them out to the table.

\--

“I can’t stop thinking about Juliet,” Ezra told Crowley the next day.

Crowley frowned. “What about her?”

“The writing is very interesting,” Ezra said carefully. “I know you two tried a lot of things, but do you think spending more time with another human might have some effect?”

“Are you volunteering?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“Well, why not?” Ezra said. “As you said, I need a role around here, and this is somewhere that I might be able to help. It’s certainly worth my time, and if it helps a friend of yours, I’d be glad to.”

_Beelzebub isn’t my friend_ , Crowley thought reflexively, and then stopped himself. Perhaps they were. They were certainly their closest and most trusted advisor, and he did occasionally reveal something of a personal nature to them. If a prince ever could truly have a friend, he supposed this is what it would look like.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, bringing him back to reality.

Crowley steepled his fingers and thought about it. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try. I’ll talk to Beez about it tomorrow.”

\--

A few mornings later there was a knock on the outer door of Crowley’s chambers. Ezra went to open it and found Beelzebub there, Juliet hiding somewhat nervously behind them.

“Ezzzzzra,” Beelzebub said with only a slight hint of disdain, in what was undoubtedly their friendliest tone. “Juliet has come to vizzzit with you for a few hourzzz.”

They moved through the outer office and into the apartments. Beelzebub murmured something to Juliet, who looked at him with barely hidden unease, and then disappeared into the study with Crowley to discuss statecraft and intrigue, leaving Ezra and Juliet alone. Ezra swallowed nervously, knowing this was something of an audition for him. Could he manage to connect with Juliet on his own? If he couldn’t, this would probably be the only time he was allowed to try.

He smiled at her warmly. “Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand to her in his most unthreatening manner. To his surprise, after hesitating for a second, she took it. “I want to show you something.”

He led the girl through to the kitchen, where he’d earlier put together a simple bread dough and left it to rise by the fire for a few hours. Baking bread, he’d found, was highly therapeutic and likely to be a familiar activity to a woman who had lived on earth in the 1800s. The scent of warm yeast filled the air and made the kitchen smell homey and inviting. He pulled out a chair for Juliet, who sat askew on it, spine ramrod straight, eyes darting from surface to surface. Ezra was suddenly glad he’d had the foresight to put away the knives.

“Who are you again?” Juliet asked in her whispery voice. “My Lord knows you? I don’t often go out.” She looked around. “Dangerous.”

Ezra smiled and brought the heavy stoneware bowl containing the dough over to the table, along with a smaller bowl of loose flour.

“I’m Ezra. I – I live with the Prince.”

Juliet focused on him with a moment of odd clarity. “My Lord Bee and the Prince are friends. The Prince visits.”

“That’s right,” Ezra said. He uncovered the bowl. “I’ve been making bread. Would you help me knead it?”

Juliet lost focus again, staring at him blankly while humming a strange little tune and making odd flicking gestures with her fingers, like she was shooing away small insects. Ezra didn’t push – instead he scattered flour over the surface of the table and rolled the dough out of the bowl, where he began punching and kneading it rhythmically. After a moment, he noticed Juliet had quieted down and was watching him more closely, so he pulled the dough to two pieces and handed one to her in open invitation.

She hesitated, then cupped her hands around it and raised it to her nose for a long sniff.

Ezra watched her for a moment, then pushed the flour bowl towards her and went back to pulling and kneading his own ball of dough, slowly working it and folding it over into another bundle, over and over.

Carefully, hesitantly, Juliet began to mimic his movements, nervously at first, but then with growing confidence.

They worked on in an increasingly comfortable silence, punctuated here and there by bits and pieces of a song Juliet was humming under her breath.

\--

“So, the puca claimed no knowledge of planting a changeling with the humanzz, or a human among the water folk,” Beelzebub concluded. “Azzz I mentioned, there are some areazz of concern with their current leadership, but I do not think they have been involved in our present situation.”

“Did you assess his truthfulness?” Crowley said. “You know what pucas are like.”

“I did,” Beez said, annoyed by the inference that they might have forgotten such a thing. “I used a truthstone with them and it failed to react to any falzzehood.”

“Interesting.” Crowley said, draining his brandy. “I guess we can cross that one off the list.”

He stared across the desk at Beelzebub, who looked distracted and worried.

“They’ve been out there for quite a while now,” Crowley continued. “No screaming or sounds of broken furniture or bodies hitting the wall.”

Beelzebub grimaced. “So funny, my Prinzzzze,” they said.

“Perhaps we should go see what they’re up to?” Crowley said.

“Perhapzzz.”

They followed the sound of voices to the kitchen door, where they both froze, taking in the odd sight in front of them.

Juliet and Ezra were seated on opposite sides of the large kitchen table – or at least, Crowley assumed it was them, as it was a little hard to tell. He could make out the familiar shape of the angel under his coating of flour, and Juliet’s brown eyes were clearly visible peeping out at them out of a face completely coated in white. They were both grinning like schoolchildren.

“What in the name of the Dark One –” Beez began, before Juliet cut them off by leaping to her feet and rushing over to wrap them in a floury hug.

“My lord Bee!” Juliet said. “Bee, see, tree, flea!”

Bee patted her back fondly, raising little puffs of white, and levelled a what-the-hell eyebrow at Crowley, who bit back a smirk and turned to Ezra.

“We’re making bread,” Ezra explained a little defensively. “She’s been doing a great job.”

“Bread!” Juliet agreed. “Bread is good. I remember bread.”

Everyone in the room stopped in their tracks and stared at her. Juliet remembered something?

She blinked at all of them, puzzled by the sudden attention, and then wandered away distractedly to poke at the oven. 

\--

Crowley watched later that evening, after Beez and Juliet had returned home, as Ezra tucked the bread into the ovens and finished the two loaves. He set Juliet’s aside in a basket, wrapped nicely in a fresh towel, and then broke a few large pieces off the one he’d made for them and drizzled it with butter and honey before bringing a piece over to Crowley.

“Uh uh,” Crowley said, as Ezra started to sit in the chair across from him. He patted his lap instead. “Sit here instead.”

Ezra dimpled happily and did so, perching himself on Crowley’s knee. He broke breaking off a piece of steaming bread and popping it into Crowley’s mouth.

“Ohmygod,” Crowley mumbled through his very full mouth. “That is insanely good.”

Ezra watched as a small drip of butter ran down the side of Crowley’s mouth and towards his jawline. “You’ve got a little bit –” he pointed. “That is, you’ve got a smidge of –” He hesitated. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said, leaning in to delicately lick it off. “I’ll just it get it for you, shall I?”

Crowley murmured appreciatively and suddenly there was no further bread tasting on the menu for the evening.

\--

Lord Crowley was amusing himself at court the next morning by refusing any and all petitions except the ones he thought most likely to cause mayhem in the life of the requestor. He crossed one foot over his knee and jiggled it frenetically. Court was _boring_. Always the same thing day in and day out – so-and-so didn’t pay me proper tribute, so-and-so desecrated my family shrine, so-and-so ate the pixie I was toying with before I was ready to let it go. He just wished that occasionally something _new_ would happen.

Almost as soon as he’d had the thought, a bustle of conversation alerted him to a hubbub at the far end of the room. The crowds of miscreants parted to admit a messenger arrived from the Seelie Court. It was one of her soldiers, a tall, slender woman who bristled with power and distaste as she strode through the chamber to the base of the dais and bowed down onto one knee. The long and lethal-looking sword she carried clanked ominously on the onyx floor.

“I visit you under terms of parley, to bring a scroll for you from my Lady of the Summer Lands, the Queen of the Shining Court,” the woman said formally, then held position.

“Arise,” Crowley said, sitting up and leaning forward. Finally, something entertaining!

The woman stood tall, staunchly refusing to make eye contact with any other creature in the room. She held up a shimmering scroll and Crowley nodded for one of his companions to take it and bring it up to him. It prickled in his hand just a little bit with Griane’s residual power, indicating that it was both genuine and untouched since it left her side.

“Does my sister wish for a response?” he asked.

“She does.”

Crowley snapped a finger and two redcaps appeared. “Take my visitor to the amber reception chamber and offer her whatever refreshments she desires,” he said to them, “and stand guard to ensure she is unmolested.” He turned to the woman who still stood at formal attention. “I will have a response for you within the hour,” he said.

He dismissed the court as a flurry of activity indicated his wishes being implemented and strode back to his chambers to read the scroll in private.

\--

He found Ezra in the outer study and invited him to listen as he read the scroll aloud.

“My dearest brother,” he read.

> _I bring two pieces of news, both potentially dire._
> 
> _For one, the water fey have shared that they heard rumors of a human child who was present with the woodland folk in the eastern fens a decade or two ago, but who died cruelly after a short stay. I have no further information about this, but the timing does seem to be nearly correct, given our kind’s general vagueness about the passage of years._
> 
> _Second, I am disturbed to report that a recent incident with one of our court portals appears to echo your concerns. One of my senior counsellors used a portal to travel as part of this research and reports he was caught within the portal for a period of several hours when attempting to return. He arrived disoriented and drained of much of his powers, although he has since recovered._
> 
> _Oddly enough, other uses of the same portal that day resulted in no unusual activity, but I warn you to be careful with your travels until we can identify what went wrong._
> 
> _I suggest that we scrye for immediate conversations or travel in person to an alternate rendezvous for our next meeting._
> 
> _Be well, dear brother.  
>   
> _

Crowley looked up, his face drained of all color, and Ezra stared back at him, shocked.

“A dead human child?” Ezra said quietly.

“And the portals are getting worse?” Crowley added.

“This can’t be good,” Ezra said.

Crowley nodded darkly. He picked up a quill and began crafting his response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I love your comments and am so glad you're finding the next story worthwhile!
> 
> I'm going to try to post twice a week, going forward here. Chapter five is underway but is a massively action-heavy chapter, so it's slow going -- but I will try to have it out by Wednesday! And knowing me, as with all the existing chapters of this so far, by the time I'll get it done it will be massively too long and need to be split so we will have chapters five and six without any extra work. :) My brain has too many words waiting to come out.


	5. Spycraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for the source of a rumored changeling continues, and Crowley and Griane issue an invitation to Anathema and Adam as they continue to puzzle over his identity.

After a quick scrye with Griane to gather as much as she knew about the rumored kidnapping of a human child, Lord Crowley called a meeting with his council and sent out a handful of his best spies to assimilate into the solitary enclaves of the woodland fae. Their job was to figure out exactly who had been behind this changeling travesty and bring them to the Dark Keep by any means necessary. This required a rather massive output of manpower as the solitary fae were, by nature, rather retiring, and could be difficult to track down. He sent massive bribes along, and certified any amount of coercion needed aside from outright mortal injury to whoever was responsible.

If there was violence to be done here, it was his responsibility, he thought grimly.

And then, he and his top aides sat down to wait and to lay their plans.

\--

“What do unseelie spies look like?” Ezra asked in a quiet tone, fascinated.

Crowley waved a hand at the creatures surrounding them in the presence chamber of the keep. “You know, they look like any of us,” he said, grinning a little. “The whole point of a spy is that they don’t _look_ like a spy.

One of Crowley’s underlings, a small, drab, winged creature with enormous multi-faceted eyes, mistook the hand gesture and scurried over to the dais with a flagon of wine, which he bowed and held up to them in pincer-shaped hands. “More wine, my Prince?” the creature hissed.

Crowley frowned, then shrugged. One could always use more wine. “Good,” he said, holding out his crystal flagon to be filled. “And the human’s as well.”

Ezra sipped, and waited until the creature was far away before speaking quietly to Crowley.

“And what happens when you find them?” he asked, neutrally.

“Nothing good, Ezra,” Crowley said gravely. “They broke laws in your world and mine. Don’t be expecting anyone to be gentle and forgiving in this instance.”

He looked meaningfully at Ezra for a long, hard moment.

“I understand, my dear,” Ezra said mildly. “You have a court to run.” He paused. “Do you really think it’s him? I mean – the real version of my student?”

“I have no idea,” Crowley said. “But we’re going to find out.”

\--

Griane arrived several days later to help oversee the hunt for the guilty party, and also to confer more with Crowley about what to do about the Earth version of Adam. After much conversation, the general consensus was that she and Crowley should meet with the boy in person so they could assess his true nature with their combined skills.

“We could both go up,” Crowley suggested, glancing at Ezra who nodded his agreement.

“Yes,” Griane said, “but the portals may be faulty and it’s a dangerous time for both of us to be away from the courts.”

Crowley had to admit the truth of that statement. With a major breach of fae law and multiple tendrils of spycraft well underway, at least one of them needed to be present. He had no idea how long the current situation would take to play out. And she wasn’t wrong about portals. There were other ways for powerful fae such as themselves to travel between worlds, but they required huge amounts of magical energy and might, if used, leave them compromised at a critical moment.

“What if we invite Adam to come down here?” Ezra suggested. Both Crowley and Griane looked at him consideringly. “We’d have to fill him in on a few things, but he has his suspicions about it all already. And he’s a smart boy; if I’m here, I think he’ll be able to manage, particularly if we keep it quiet.”

Griane raised an eyebrow. “This could be helpful.”

Crowley nodded. “Let’s talk to the witch about it.”

\--

“Err, hello my dear,” Ezra said, focusing carefully on the scrying bowl in front of him. “I’m afraid we have rather more of a conference call tonight than a one-on-one chat.” He stepped aside to let Crowley and then Lady Griane fit into the picture.

“Greetings, Anathema,” Griane said. She frowned at the bowl. “So primitive!” she said in irritation, and then muttered a few words with an accompanying hand motion. She then raised and cast the scrying surface into the air in front of them, where it looked like nothing so much as a large screen television. “That’s better.”

Ezra shot Crowley a look and meaningfully side-eyed the large, clear image in front of them – did he know you could do that with a scrying bowl? Crowley shrugged. Apparently not. He would have to discuss it with his sister later.

“Hello, Lady Griane,” Anathema said, bowing her head respectfully. “Crowley. What can I do for you?”

“That’s Lord Crowley, witchgirl” Crowley pointed out a little peevishly. Anathema smirked at him.

“We’d like to meet the boy, Adam,” Lady Griane said.

“I could arrange for him to be here for another session of scrying,” Anathema said.

“Unfortunately, we can’t tell much about his nature through a scrye,” Crowley said. “And our portals are causing trouble, so all of us coming to you would be difficult. We’d like to send up a charm like the one Ezra used and have you send him down here for a visit.”

Ezra, from his position as more of an observer, watched as Anathema’s face went from interested to concerned to stubborn. Oh goodness, he thought. This could go wrong in a hundred different ways.

“You want me to send a child down for a visit to Fey?” Anathema asked.

Griane stepped in smoothly. “We will of course guarantee his safety and swift return to you.”

Anathema raised her chin. “No.”

Crowley frowned. “Witchgirl, you’ve met both me and my sister, more than once, and Ezra will be with him the whole time. You have nothing to worry about.”

Ezra cleared his throat and caught Anathema’s eye. _Don’t be rude_ , he telegraphed as clearly as he could through eye language and posture.

“With all due respect,” Anathema said, at least some of Ezra’s message clearly having gotten through, “I would be remiss in my role as Adam’s teacher if I were to send him alone into a realm and situation I’ve never seen for myself. He’s a child.”

Crowley frowned. “So what you’re saying is?”

“I’d like to come visit for myself,” Anathema said, “to see what I would be sending him into. If I can visit safely and return, then I’ll consent to bringing Adam along with me on my next trip.”

Ezra felt a warm bloom of something akin to pride in his chest. Smart girl, he thought. She’d never have just eaten a teacake in the woods like he did.

Griane and Crowley conferred quietly for a moment, then Griane turned to the image.

“Your terms are acceptable, Anathema,” she said, voice smooth and melodic. “You are invited to be a guest at my court at a time of mutual convenience, once I have returned there myself from my stay with my brother. As an invited guest, you will be afforded the privileges of protection from all glamours and any compulsion to stay, and you may eat and drink freely. Does this meet your needs?”

Anathema inclined her head in a respectful bow. “Yes, Lady Griane.”

“Update my brother about your plans when they are finalized,” Griane said, and she and Crowley wandered away, leaving Ezra to finish the conversation.

He and Anathema stared at each other mutely for a moment.

“Well that was unexpected,” Anathema said, finally.

“It will be lovely to see you though,” Ezra said. “I will be with you every step of the way, my dear.”

“Well,” Anathema said, “it looks like I’ve got arrangements to make!”

\--

After an edgy week in which messages were constantly flying in and out of the castle and frequent emergency meetings were being held to review scrolls and harness ravens and cast spells of assistance. Tempers were frayed and tensions high as they all waited for their efforts to come to fruition.

Ezra looked across the table where he was having a late breakfast with Crowley and Griane. Crowley’s impatience was evident in every line of his body, from his tapping toe to his hunched posture to the way he jumped from subject to subject. Griane hid her impatience beneath a smoother exterior, but he could tell she was growing tired of the wait as well.

Just as he was racking his brain for a way to distract them all, there was a small pop as one of the redcaps appeared in the kitchen servant’s portal. It waited there obediently, frozen helpless, as the portal scanned it for weapons, spells, or evil intent before allowing it free access to the room.

The creature scampered forward, bowed to Lady Griane, then turned and swept a low bow to Lord Crowley. When it straightened up, it held a scroll out in its grizzled hand.

“News from the field, m’Lord,” the creature said. “Just arrived by raven.”

Crowley took it and dismissed the servant, then broke the seal and read through it quickly.

“Finally!” he said, looking up with a feral grin at his two companions. “They’ve got him, the one who swapped for the human child! Tried to run but the hounds brought him in.”

“Who is it?” Ezra asked.

“One of the trow,” Crowley said.

 _Trow?_ Ezra thought. _What kind of creature was that?_

Griane grimaced. “Miserable creatures,” she said. “But it makes a certain kind of sense. They’re one of the few of our kind who can freely shift realms at will.”

“Anywhere there’s a burial mound,” Crowley said.

“And they do love to go into human areas at night. Is that what happened?”

Crowley nodded. “Most likely. We’ll have to get the details out of him when they arrive. They’re on their way, should be here very soon.”

Griane sighed. “We’re going to have to pronounce the Judgment on him, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley said. “If they truly did it, there’s no alternative.”

Ezra was just about to ask for clarification on several points when a commotion in the vestibule indicated that the party had arrived. Crowley and Griane were immediately needed in the lower levels. 

Crowley turned to Ezra. “I’ll be busy through dinner,” he said briefly. “Will you meet me back here tonight?”

“Yes, of course,” Ezra said. “Be careful, love.”

Crowley gave him a brief smile and strode away.

\--

Ezra spent most of the morning in the apartments but wandered down to the main area of the palace later in the afternoon to see if he could find out any news. The presence chamber was mostly empty save for its usual guards and a few hangers on, but around the keep he found many more than usual small groups of creatures whispering in corners. There seemed to be a nervous excitement in the air. He heard snatches of conversation, involving words like “dungeons” and “interrogation” that left him with few illusions about what was probably happening right now.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Ezra knew most of his own world’s governments used nefarious and horrifying techniques in their intelligence communities and that most of the great monarchies of his country’s past would have done exactly what was happening here if they were suddenly faced with a traitor in their midst – wrung the truth out of them with whatever means necessary.

It was different when you were aware of it, almost complicit in it, he thought. He had no idea what to do with that idea, for now.

It was nearly midnight by the time Crowley came back to the apartment. He looked pale and displeased as he walked into the library, where Ezra was nervously waiting.

“Did you find anything out?” he asked.

“Yes. I'm sorry, Ezra, but unfortunately, it wasn’t Adam Young,” Crowley sighed. He dropped onto other side of the long, L-shaped couch and leaned his head back, eyes shut with fatigue. “It was a girl child. The timeframe was just a coincidence.”

“Oh, good lord,” Ezra exclaimed. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved that there wasn’t a more legitimate version of Adam who was dead, or upset that they still didn’t know the answer to this puzzle. “So, we’re no closer to knowing who Adam really is than we were before?”

“No,” Crowley said. “But we did find out who sent one of our own to Earth to perish. That’s a heinous crime in this world, and it will need to be dealt with.”

Ezra, reading his exhaustion clearly, got up to fix him a drink from the cart in the corner. He carefully put in two pieces of ice, the filled the cup halfway with whiskey, the way he knew his love preferred. He came and sat near him and jiggled the glass gently and Crowley opened his eyes at the clinking of the ice.

“Oh, bless you,” he said. He took it and had a deep sip, then dropped his head back on the seat again. “I’m so bloody tired.”

“Tell me about the girl,” Ezra said gently.

“Well, they took her when she was about five, mostly because she was sweet and pretty and had a habit of wandering close to a barrow in the woods behind her home. Left behind one of their own, a small wood nymph, who quickly went astray and has not been seen again.” Crowley sighed in obvious discomfort. “They attempted to care for her, more as a pet than anything else, but she never truly adjusted to the food here and sickened and died within the first year.”

Ezra shuddered. “The poor girl! Her poor family! That’s hideous.”

“It is,” Crowley agreed, “and it’s a major violation of Fae law. We will carry out judgment tomorrow.”

“Judgment?” Ezra asked. “You and Griane mentioned that earlier.”

Crowley looked uncomfortable. “Yes. There are…” he paused, thinking, “higher authorities than my sister and I in the realm.”

Ezra blinked. He’d seen no evidence of this thus far in his experiences here.

“There are?”

“Of course, there are,” Crowley snapped. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but do you really think I’m the highest authority in the land?”

Ezra leaned forward in interest. “Well, if not you, who is?”

Crowley shook his head. “Trust me, Ezra, there are things you’re better off not knowing. If there’s an authority higher than me, assume it’s dark and mostly disinterested and leave that be. I’m begging you.”

Ezra frowned. “I’m not asking for a personal introduction, dear, just a vague idea of what you’re talking about.”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment. “There’s – there’s a council of sorts. Called the Shadow Council. Their realm abuts ours. We don’t go there. But they set the few overriding laws that all of fae society adheres to, and they deal with major imbalances and crimes, and… and executions.” He looked away. “That’s really all I can tell you about them.”

\--

“I won’t stop you,” Crowley said the next morning as they had their morning coffee, “but I’d rather you didn’t attend today.”

“Why not?” Ezra asked, surprised.

“Because court business is not always pretty,” Crowley said. “It’s not all lounging around being served wine and casting aspersions on the characters of random residents of the keep. Sometimes there’s awful business to conduct. I’d rather shield you from that if I could.”

Crowley, Ezra noted, was dressed as formally as he’d seen him, in what appeared to be a more ceremonial and decorative version of his usual black suit and with a robe bearing a more pronounced sigil. He was wearing a number of heavy rings, and a small gold circlet sat on the table in front of him that he obviously intended to wear to the court proceedings today. He looked tense and distracted and Ezra was touched, in a way, that Crowley had stopped during a difficult moment to think about his comfort.

Ezra thought for a moment. “Are you in danger?”

Crowley reached out and placed a hand on top of Ezra’s. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Don’t be concerned about that.”

He left shortly thereafter, both of them aware that Ezra hadn’t confirmed or denied his request.

Ezra wanted to bow to Crowley's wishes -- he did. But he was also consumed with curiosity about what was happening. And Crowley had, after all, left it up to him.

He wouldn’t be angry at him for coming, he knew that.

And he did, actually, want to understand the full picture of what life among the Fae entailed. He was well aware there were many, many things he didn't know. Perhaps it was time for him to discover some of them, and stop hiding from the truth. 

With a deep sigh and bit of misgivings, he carefully put away the breakfast items and headed down to the main hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm officially changing my posting schedule to Sundays and Wednesdays. I will do my best to keep up with this!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for all of your great comments! Chapter six is nearly finished -- because, as predicted, what I wrote was so long that I had to split it in half, so that will easily be ready in a few days for the next posting date. And yes, things are starting to look a little dark. Are you feeling a little tense about what happens next? Heh heh heh.


	6. Judgment Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra's confidence is shaken after watching Griane and Crowley declare judgment on the trow.

When Ezra made his way down the central stairway into the main hall, the multiple arched entranceways from it into the throne room were thronged with bodies – shoulder to wing, toe to claw, everyone was scrabbling for entrance and it looked like no one else could possibly get through. Ezra watched, flummoxed, before remembering that he had unique access to a private, guarded door, closer to the throne at the far end of the room. He retraced his steps through a few hallways until he approached the entrance he and Crowley took when they came down each day for court.

Several armed goblin guards stood blocking the entrance. When they saw it was the Prince’s companion, they saluted and smartly stepped aside to let him in. 

Ezra scooted past them and down the side stairs that hugged the walls on either side of the throne platform and led to the large, open hall. He found Ligur near the front of the crowd, leaning against one of the long, marching row of paired pillars formed from stalactites and stalagmites.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

Ligur turned a terrifying grin on him. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do,” Ezra muttered, pushing his way closer to the front. Various creatures snarled at him, only to pull back when they recognized who they were dealing with. He finally made his way to a good vantage point, at the base of the central steps that led up to the dais.

Ezra paused mentally to take in the whole scene. The presence chamber was packed with observers from every level of the court. It reminded him of one of the banquets he’d attended, both for the sheer variety of creatures present and for the atmosphere of barely-restrained festivity. Apparently capturing and dealing with an enemy was high court entertainment. Small, winged creatures flitted through the air, anything from cave trolls to the smallest of the goblins were jostling for position in the stone grottos around the edges of the room, and there were even furred and scaled creatures swinging from some of the light fixtures and floating around below the high, arched ceiling.

On the dais, a second seat had been added and both Lord Crowley and Lady Griane were there, watching impartially, aglow with a forbidding and cold sheen of power. Lord Crowley held a scepter that Ezra had never seen before, something akin to a highly polished onyx staff with a large smoky stone on the top in the shape of a snake head. It was dramatic and intimidating as hell to see him from this perspective, and Ezra suddenly felt himself feeling pity for whatever creature was going to be the focus of their combined displeasure.

A blast of trumpets announced movement at the other end of the hall, and Ezra looked down in time to see the large, double doors, easily twice the height of a cave troll, swing open.

A tall, dark creature was dragged into the presence chamber in the grip of two of the hulking beasts who manned the dungeons. They pulled him three quarters of the way down the long, black walkway that led to the dais and then let go of him suddenly. Ezra watched as they prodded him with their spears and told him to approach.

The creature, as Crowley had explained, was one of the woodland trow, who inhabited the burial mounds, or barrows, of ancient chieftains on Earth. Because these chieftains had lived and died in time periods when the barriers between Earth and Fae were much lower and more easily passed, these barrows often existed in a way that straddled both realms. The trow had come to live in these liminal spaces, allowing them unusual access to both realms without the use of a portal or other spells.

The trow pulled itself up to full height for a moment, glaring at the gathered crowd, who hissed and jeered. He was, Aziraphale noted, rather horrifying. He had the body of a powerful warrior, encased in tattered leather armor that had definitely seen better days. His arms and legs were hidden beneath a swirling, threadbare cloak but where a flash of skin could be seen it appeared to be gray. A helmet made of bone encased his hair and the upper half of his face, with what appeared to be human eyes peering out, and most of the rest was obscured by a tangled beard that straggled halfway down its chest.

The guards prodded it again.

“Approach!” Lord Crowley thundered. The crowd held its breath.

The creature gave a brief shudder, and then lurched forward with a marked limp. It left a trail of some kind of grime behind it and appeared, Ezra noted, to be badly injured.

It stumbled to the base of the steps, and then stood, its posture defiant.

Griane made a casual gesture and the creature was forced to its knees with a loud thump.

“Cothonu of the Barrow Trow,” Lord Crowley said, his voice echoing loudly in every nook and cranny of the room, “you stand accused of breaking one of the foundational laws of our realm. Did you take a human child from Earth and abandon one of our own in its place?”

The trow continued to gaze at them, unmoved and unmoving. “You know I did,” he finally grunted.

A chorus of cat calls broke out around the room. Lord Crowley banged his strange scepter on the floor, releasing a shower of booming sparks, and the room fell tensely silent again.

Lady Griane and Lord Crowley exchanged a look, and she made a hand gesture as if ceding control to her brother. It was, after all, his court they were presiding over.

Lord Crowley stood up and took a step forward. “Do you have any words in your defense?” he asked.

Ezra had the distinct feeling that this was a scripted interaction; he doubted Crowley really cared about the trow’s reasons for killing a human. He and everyone else there knew the creature was doomed. He stepped back a little further into the crowd, not sure why he was observing this.

The trow snorted. “I do not have to justify myself to you or your sister. I am solitary,” he said, then gathered his energy to spit at Lord Crowley’s feet.

Crowley raised his scepter and pointed it at the trow, and a strange glow began to emerge from it. It gathered around the trow like a mist, then began tightening and tugging around his wrists and ankles, pulling his limbs out until he was in an x-shape. The trow gasped and struggled for breath as the violent gray mist began to lift him off the ground, pulling him up until he was suspended in mid-air above the crowd.

Ezra realized he was no longer breathing and forced himself to take a quick inhale. He looked back and forth between the trow, who was emitting waves of agony as the mist began to bend him backwards into an arc, and his love, who looked the least human-like that he had ever seen him. Lord Crowley was crackling with power, appeared to be taller than usual as if his very body was stretching toward the ceiling, and his skin had gone alabaster pale. His eyes, unfathomably dark, were focused on the creature suspended in front of him, who was writhing and fighting as much as he could within his crackling bonds.

Lady Griane stepped forward beside Crowley and laid a hand over his on the scepter. The scepter arced another surge of power through the trow, almost like a lightning bolt, causing smoke to rise from each of the points where the mist was binding him. The trow howled in a long peal of agony.

Ezra glanced at Crowley and found he had an odd look on his face – almost the hint of a smile? Was he… _enjoying_ this? He looked calm and cool and as if expending such immense power was a trivial matter. Ezra felt a cold ripple of fear inside himself.

The watching crowd, obviously knowing something about what was to occur, backed up a little, leaving a clear ring around the creature. Ezra allowed himself to be pulled back with them, feeling sick but unable to look away.

“Cothonu of the Barrow Trow,” Lord Crowley shouted, “as the rulers of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, and in the name of those we serve, you are proclaimed to have broken the immutable laws of this land. We hereby sentence you to complete destruction in the Shadow Realm.” 

He and Griane raised the scepter towards the ceiling, then banged it down onto the dais with a thundering clang. The ringing of the noise echoed up into the ceilings, becoming louder and louder until many of those watching began to cover their ears. It grew and grew until Ezra wondered if his ears might actually bleed – and then in a blinding flash of light that left everyone blinking, it stopped.

Ezra hardly had to look up to know that the trow was gone.

The crowd, still celebratory but slightly cowed, began to drift away.

\--

It took a moment for Crowley, abuzz with the power he’d just been channeling, to return to himself, and when he did, he found himself almost staggering with exhaustion. Griane beside him looked little better. The Shadow court was not a joke to anyone in the fae realms, whatever their allegiance. No one sent there had ever returned, and the punishment they meted out was rumored to include the only truly final form of death a fae could encounter. For long-lived, slow-to-age creatures who were used to thinking of the death of one vessel mostly as a lovely change of pace to reincorporate into a new shell, the thought was beyond horrifying.

“Are you all right?” Griane asked him, laying a cool hand on his arm.

“Not especially. You?” he asked, noticing as he did that the chamber had nearly emptied out. Only those on duty to serve him – the cupbearers, the soldiers, the bodyguards remained. And Ezra, he realized. He cast around for Ezra, noting him standing near a pillar on the far side of the room, looking ill.

“I will recover,” Griane said. She nodded at where Ezra was standing. “I think your partner needs you.”

Crowley nodded slowly. No rest for the weary, he thought, then he took a deep breath and headed across the room.

\--

Ezra watched him coming, his face very pale.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Crowley said, aware he was still rippling with power in a way that was likely visible. He took a breath and tried to tamp it down. He stepped into the shadows behind the pillar where they would be hidden from view of his remaining courtiers, and to his relief Ezra followed him, although he stayed a few steps away.

Ezra said nothing, continuing to look at his face with an expression Crowley couldn’t decipher.

Crowley tried again. “I know that must have been shocking to you – you’ve never seen me use my power like that before, to… to…”

“To torture someone?” Ezra said quietly.

Crowley frowned. “No,” he said. _The torture had happened yesterday_. He was wise enough not to say _that_ , but he could see in Ezra’s gaze that he had probably put two and two together already on that account.

He stepped forward. “Listen,” he said, placing a hand gently on Ezra’s shoulder. “I will try to –”

Ezra flinched away violently at the touch.

“Don’t!” he snapped. “Just don’t.”

Crowley stepped back and stared, aghast.

“I –” Ezra’s voice stumbled, and he cleared his throat to try again. “I need some time.”

Crowley didn’t try to stop him as Ezra turned and left the hall.

\--

Ezra found himself wishing he had somewhere else to go other than the royal apartments, but given the immensity of the keep and the celebratory and violent mood of its occupants, he decided his safest choice was to return to the most protected areas of it. He passed a few other creatures who knew him by sight and smiled and shrugged off their muttered greetings, until he nearly broke into a run to get back to where he could be alone.

Finally, finally, he found the vestibule doors and laid a hand on the snake figure to identify himself. The doors swung open and admitted him into the outer office, where he wasted no time edging around Crowley’s large and imposing desk to access the hidden door to their private chambers. From there, he hurried down the long hall to his own former apartments, which Crowley had thoughtfully moved into his space and connected to his bedchamber.

He hadn’t used his room much since he had returned, both of them preferring to spend most of their nights in Crowley’s bed. But today he relished the privacy his own space offered. He closed and barred the doors behind him, and sank down to sit on the edge of his old bed as a deep wave of fatigue overcame him.

 _Stop being ridiculous,_ he thought, giving himself a firm mental shake. _You knew he had powers, and you knew that his job requires ruthlessness. This is not news._

Nonetheless, knowing that in an abstract sense and actually witnessing it were two very different things.

He suddenly, desperately, missed Earth. Missed his cottage, missed his students, missed Anathema. He thought about calling her and realized that his phone was in Crowley’s room on the bedside table; he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room right now for any reason.

He laid his head in his hands. _What am I doing here?_ He thought. _Do I even know?_

He tried to remind himself that the Crowley he knew – the loving, snarky, arrogant, devoted person with whom he shared a life – of course had the responsibility to rule, to judge wrongdoers, even to punish them, and that the norms of this realm were not his to judge or condemn. But the look on Crowley’s face as the trow writhed in the air continued to haunt him.

He suddenly had the strongest desire to talk with Madame Tracy again. She had done so much to help him make sense of these strange experiences when they were new. He wanted nothing more than to sit down in her beautiful, riotously-colored tent and drink a cup or two of her tea while she explained to him once again how things worked.

The idea, once planted, began to grow. Ezra decided to sleep on it and hold off on any course of action until the morning.

_\--_

When Crowley returned to their quarters that evening, he could tell that Ezra was there just from the general background buzz of his energy – but he noted quickly that that energy was somewhat closed off at the moment, and that Ezra had chosen to hide away in his own, little-used chambers at the far end of the apartment. Crowley stood at the double doors that connected Ezra’s rooms to his and considered knocking until the sensation of an ache inside stopped him cold.

He took a quick inventory of the feelings he could identify.

He felt worried about Ezra, of course, and sorry that he had taken the afternoon’s events so badly. He also noted that he felt nearly exhausted, drained of nearly all of his reserves of power, and horrified by what he’d had to do, along with a handful of other complex things he didn’t have the acuity to put a name to right now.

He stared the rejection of those closed and forbidding doors, knowing Ezra was aware of his presence, and just couldn’t bring himself to find out if it had truly been barred against him.

Dropping back to his side the hand that had been about to knock, he whirled around and returned to his rooms.

_\--_

Ezra was relieved to find the apartments deserted the next morning. He crept through the empty hallways, not sure whether he was going to find Crowley waiting for him like a spider around the next corner, and didn’t feel his guard drop until he was successfully outside the vestibule with no encounters whatsoever.

He made his way to the records room, and was pleased to find a familiar trench-coated shape hunched over a notebook there.

“Human!” Hastur said, removing a piece of paper he had obviously been chewing on from his mouth. “Surprised to see you out and about. Thought you and the Prince would be – y’know, celebrating.”

Ezra frowned. “Why aren’t you? Celebrating I mean.”

Hastur shrugged and treated him to his brown, heavily stained grin. “Who says I haven’t been? Just came up here to make a few notes on new scare ideas.” He tapped his temple. “Always thinking, me.”

Ezra sat down and tried to look casual. “I had a question for you, actually,” he said.

Hastur put down his grubby pen. “Yes?”

“How do you use a portal?” Ezra asked.

Hastur cracked a knuckle reflexively and stared at him. “Why’d you wanna know that?” he mumbled.

“Oh,” Ezra said, stuffing deep his discomfort at lying. “I’m just trying to help figure out what could be going wrong with them, but I don’t really understand how they work.”

Hastur shrugged. “Came to the wrong bloke, there. I dunno how they work.” He waved a grubby hand around. “Magic. Yknow.”

Ezra thought for a moment. “Well, for example, how do you get it to decide where it’s going to take you, when you use one?” Hastur looked at him. “I mean, that could be the key to figuring out why people are ending up somewhere else.”

Hastur chewed on some leftover paper pulp for a moment, then swallowed laboriously. “Well, I dunno, there’s nuthing special about it, you just _think_ about it.”

“You picture it?”

“Yeah, whut?” Hastur sighed. “Haven’t you ever done it yourself? You just picture where you’re going as you step in and don’t think about anything else.”

“Hrm,” Ezra said. “Ok, that’s very interesting! So now let’s hear about this scare idea of yours. Is it based on the Twilight Zone movie you were watching a few days ago?”

Hastur looked a bit confused for a moment, then shrugged and happily began filling Ezra in on his latest scheme.

\--

Ezra sat in the royal apartment a half hour later, in front of the minor portal Crowley maintained in one of the small anterooms off his bedchamber, and tried to talk himself out of what he knew was probably a poor idea. It only transported you from place to place within the realm, unlike the more high-powered portals they used to travel between Fae and Earth, but that was all he needed. A quick trip to see Madame Tracy for afternoon tea, back in a few hours before Crowley even knew he’d been gone. He knew, of course, that he’d end up telling him about it later, but he’d rather face the uproar it might cause then ask for a blessing he knew he wasn’t going to get.

He fingered the smooth, gray stone Madame Tracy had given him so long ago and wondered if it would still work. He hoped it would make the trip to find her as quick and accurate as possible. Yes, he knew there were some problems with the portals, but he’d witnessed multiple members of the Unseelie retinue using portals every day without incident, including the redcaps that jumped in and out of the royal apartments dozens of times a day. Perhaps, he thought, the real issues were with travel between the realms and not travel within a single place.

Finally, nervously, he took a deep breath and pictured Madame Tracy as he’d last seen her as clearly as he could, from her absurd orange hair to her bright red lips to her multicolored gown. He recalled the smell of her tea and the wafting lilac walls of her tent. When he was sure he had the image correct and firmly implanted in his mind, he drew a deep breath and stepped into the portal.

\--

Crowley looked up from his twelfth glass of wine and gestured away the brownie steward who was helping him. He had spent the morning reviewing the contents of the royal wine vault, mostly as an excuse to give Ezra some space. He’d tried several of the newer acquisitions and identified a few to be served at the farewell banquet that had been planned for tomorrow before Griane returned to her own courts. After that, well, he’d mostly just continued to sample his older favorites.

Suddenly, he was tired of this, tired of everything. He and Ezra had worked hard to have a relationship built on open communication, so what in the blazes was he doing hiding in the wine vault a half kilometer beneath the keep? He stood up, concentrated for a moment to remove the effects of the wine from his system, and tossed a small sack of gold coins to the steward before whisking himself back to the vestibule outside their apartments. He gathered his thoughts about how to begin this conversation before he entered. 

“Ezra?” he called, pushing through the concealed door. “You home?”

He started in the kitchen, then made his way through all of Ezra’s usual haunts. He checked Ezra’s favorite reading places, the top of the tower in the study, the nook where he often drank coffee, the gigantic tub where he had been known to soak for hours, the balcony outside of Crowley’s bedroom, and finally, bracing himself, he pushed his way into Ezra’s chambers and found them completely empty.

Frowning, Lord Crowley took his search out into other parts of the keep. He checked the records room, the bedrooms in the guest wing beyond it, the presence chamber, the banquet hall, and all of the various spots in between.

Nothing. There was no sign of his angel anywhere.

Crowley pushed down a rising tide of concern. He returned to the apartments and summoned one of the redcaps, who appeared instantly on the small servant portal near the study.

“Yes, my lord?” the creature croaked.

“Have you seen Ezra?” Lord Crowley demanded.

The creature shook its head, and Crowley dismissed it after a few further questions.

He sighed and sat down in the study to wait. Wherever Ezra had gone, it was obvious he didn’t want to be found right now. He’d have to try to respect that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes... Ezra has done something very fool-headed again. His stubbornness will be the death of him -- but not in this story. I promise to bring him back in mostly one piece. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading -- I love getting your comments! You make fanfic authoring worthwhile, each and every one of you. Also many thanks to my wonderful beta, Zeck! Couldn't do it without you, your endless enthusiasm, and your growing ability to criticize without apologizing. :) 
> 
> Next update will be Sunday...


	7. There and Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra visits Madam Tracy with the help of a magic talisman, but finds himself in lacking on the return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done a day early -- happy weekend! Next update is slated for Wednesday!

Ezra opened his eyes and was relieved to find himself right where he’d wanted to be – outside a very familiar-looking, violet-colored tent. He superstitiously kissed the stone Madam Tracy had given him on his first visit with her and tucked it deep into his pocket, then pulled the bell cord next to the tent’s opening and waited politely.

A hand with red-lacquered nails pulled the tent open and Madam Tracy’s face popped into view. She looked surprised and then quite happy to see him.

“Oh, my goodness, it’s Ezra!” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in!” She held open the doorway and beckoned him inside. “What are you doing here? Are you and Lord Crowley in town?”

Ezra grimaced. “No, I’m afraid this is more of a – shall we say – spontaneous visit.”

Madam Tracy eyed him for a moment, then pursed her lips. “Ah, so that’s the way it’s going to be, is it?” She guided him into a chair and set the pot to boil. “Can’t say your young man is going to be very pleased to find you’ve slipped away, but you’re here now. Best have some tea, I think.”

\--

Crowley tried to busy himself while Ezra was out of commission. He caught up with his paperwork, he threatened various underlings who weren’t performing up to snuff, and he dealt out rewards for those who had been involved in the tracking and capture of the trow. He dealt with a backlog of bureaucratic requests he’d been ignoring for much too long. He checked on the status of the kitchens, the armory, and the treasury.

The whole time, Ezra stayed stubbornly in the back of his mind. He wavered between two states -- intense worry about where he was and what he was doing, and complete annoyance that Ezra had ignored his request to not come to court and then had the cheek to _reject_ him for doing his job. He was doing what he had to do, as leader of his realm. It was not Ezra’s place to judge that. It was yet another instance of Ezra refusing to listen when he had his best interests at heart.

And yet.

He realized anew that love had completely screwed him over. Because in spite of his annoyance, he loved Ezra much more than he was angry with him, and he just wanted to be sure that he was okay, and the he hadn’t scared him off, and that he hadn’t suddenly decided this was all too much for him to handle.

Great, so now he was worried and annoyed AND scared. What a great combination.

The fear-inspiring, mighty, power-wielding Lord of the Dark Court of Fae decided to sequester himself in his chambers for the rest of the day before he did something entirely irredeemable like start babbling about his _feelings_ to a member of his retinue.

\--

After tea was served and biscuits were conjured and braziers were stoked for warmth and pleasantries were exchanged, Madam Tracy sighed and sat back against her chair, wrapping her shawl around herself and fixing him with a look.

“Well,” she said firmly, “unless I’m mistaken, you’ve done something rather unwise to be here and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that man of yours doesn’t appear with an army in tow to come ‘save’ you, so perhaps you better tell me what brought you here, dearie?”

Ezra took a sip of his tea. “It’s just that – well, I love him. Very much. And he loves me. But sometimes I forget how vastly different we are; it’s easy just to see him as the man I adore and not as someone who is essentially an entirely different species from me.”

Madam Tracy nodded wisely. “And something reminded you,” she said gently.

Ezra slowly filled her in on the latest intrigue of the two courts; some of it he was certain she had already heard, but the information about the trow and the judgment was obviously new to her. She winced instinctively when he mentioned the Shadow Council, and he had the fleeting impression that were she a catholic, she would have crossed herself.

“And so, you came to me hoping that I would tell you that your lover is harmless?” she asked, peering at him. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly? Sweet tempered and unassuming? I know you’re many things, Ezra Fell, but you’re not a fool.”

Ezra colored a little. “I know that,” he said. “I do. I just – I think he was enjoying himself. While he tortured the trow. His face – it looked like he was almost smiling.”

Madam Tracy poured them both more tea and waved a hand to add icing to the remaining biscuits.

“I’ll tell you something about the fae, Ezra,” she said. “Using our powers feels good. We were made to use our powers. It’s as natural to us as breathing. It’s like – what is it that you humans do? Sneezing? Violent but somewhat satisfying in an elemental way?”

Ezra blinked, momentarily distracted. _Fae don’t sneeze?_ He tried to think if he had ever observed anyone doing so. How could that be possible? 

Madame Tracy cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her. “That does not mean, however, that we delight in violence – or at least, not all of us do. Lord Crowley is an immensely powerful creature with a crushing set of responsibilities and burdens to match his gifts. I would urge you not to oversimplify your judgments about him based on a single incident, no matter how dramatic.”

Ezra thought for a moment. Was he being judgmental? He suspected he was.

“I don’t mean to judge him. But I’m human,” Ezra protested. “I can’t help seeing things from a human perspective some of the time. And that kind of power is frightening to me.”

“Humans are fairly terrifying in their own right, duckie” Madam Tracy said placidly. “With your war engines and your firebombs, your plagues and crusades, killing each other in the names of your gods, demonizing your weakest and poorest. We could all say the same of you, my dear, and miss the larger picture entirely.”

Well that was an interesting point, he had to admit.

“How do I reconcile the warm, sweet, complex man that I love with the cold-hearted ruler who can stretch someone on an invisible rack in midair?” Ezra said quietly. “Are they two different people? Are they one person?”

Madam Tracy gave him a knowing look. “We all have more than one person inside us, dearie. Don’t you?” She tutted, as she focused on putting a basket together with various vials and crockeries. “I’m sure I’ve got at least three or four inside me. You love the whole of him, or you don’t -- you can’t pick and choose the parts you want to keep.”

Ezra paled. That had the ring of truth to it. And he certainly knew he had multiple sides. The scholarly, bookish teacher. The sarcastic bastard who had dared to fight back against Crowley when they first met. The sensualist who couldn’t get enough of kissing his partner. The idiot who never, ever listened.

Madame Tracy picked up her basket. “I have a delivery to make to a patient of mine. You stay here and enjoy the tea and do some thinking, and we’ll talk more when I return.”

She headed to the door, then turned back to him. “Oh, and if your boyfriend shows up, don’t let him destroy the tent, please?”

\--

A knock at the door drew Lord Crowley’s attention from the pile of documents he was scribbling away at. He looked up and found himself faced with Hastur. Who looked, to be honest, quite dreadful.

“No interruptions,” he said imperiously.

Hastur stuttered forward, bowed much more deeply than he usually did, and then sank to his knees the floor. “Please my prince,” he stammered, “I -- I beg you not to – not to murder me or stuff me in a bottle or anything worse. I didn’t know; he was tricky, see? I didn’t realize until I was talking to Ligur just now, and well – he pointed it out to me, didn’t he? I’m more of a doer than a thinker, you know that, but ‘m loyal to you, you know that I hope –”

Crowley slammed a hand down on the desk, startling Hastur into silence. “What are you talking about?” he barked. “Speak plainly or I’ll stuff you in a bottle just because you’re annoying me.”

Hastur looked down at the rug for a moment before lifting his large black eyes to meet the Prince’s. “It’s about Ezra,” he said. “I hear – I hear that maybe he’s gone missing?”

Crowley stood up and came around the desk to tower over Hastur. “And you might know something about this?”

Hastur swallowed nervously. “Well you see, the other night he started asking me a lot of very strange questions about portals…”

\--

Crowley did manage – just barely – not to take his nearly blinding rage out Hastur, at least not to the point of any bodily harm. There might have been some shouting, some highly terrifying threats, and perhaps a kick or two imparted, but in the end Hastur was, first, alive, and second, not in a stoppered bottle on one of his shelves. All in all, Crowley congratulated himself, he’d been quite merciful.

Ezra, however, Ezra was another story.

Oh, he was going to murder him. No, he was going to find out where he’d gone, bring him home safe, make sure he wasn’t harmed or injured in any way, and _then_ he was going to murder him.

Now that he knew that Ezra had used one of the portals to flee, it was a simple matter of checking all for energy residue to see which had been recently used by a human. It was easy to detect if you knew anything about energy transfers; portals retained a bit of information about their last few uses in case of security breaches.

He started with the servant portals in the vestibule, kitchen and living areas. He doubted these were the ones, because they had a very limited range and also were heavily shielded with protective spells to keep them from being misused – and he was proven right when all of their recent energy signatures showed to be redcaps coming and going from the royal apartments. That left just a few if Ezra had, in fact, left from the apartment. The one hidden at the top of the tower by the study was his first guess, as this was one of Ezra’s favorite places to hide and read when he needed to be alone. But its energy was clear.

There was only one other possibility. The bedroom portal, concealed inside his closet.

He threw open the doors and could immediately tell from the vibrations in the air that this portal had seen recent use.

“Ezra, you bloody idiot,” he hissed, sinking to his knees and laying both hands on the portal to see what else he could glean from it.

There it was, the signature energy of his human companion. That was good news; at least now he knew where he'd been.

The bad news was that there wasn’t any way to get an exact read on where Ezra had gone with it. He couldn’t simply stand on it and ask it to take him to wherever it had gone on its last trip – that wasn’t how portals worked. You had to have a destination in mind, picture it vividly. It had to be familiar.

He pulled over an armchair and sat to think, his long legs sprawled out in front of himself with his ankles crossed, while staring at the portal. Ezra had been so few places in the realm. What did he know well enough to steer himself to? And why in the seven realms would he take such a terrible risk?

Crowley steepled his fingers and thought hard.

He’d been to the woods. He’d been to the goblin camp that Gabriel had attacked. He’d been to their private portal to Earth, but he knew the dryad guards there would never let Ezra in without him. And he’d been to Griane’s court.

Crowley frowned. Could that be where he had gone? But why? And where within it? It wasn’t like he could just hop over and check, particularly since Griane herself was here in his court. The prince of Unseelie popping up unexpectedly in the middle of the Shining Court was likely to start a war.

He could, however, send someone else. Someone less flamboyant. But then again, he might lose them in the portal.

A cold spike of fear went through him thinking about this. The portals were malfunctioning. How did he even know that Ezra had gotten to where he was trying to go? And if he didn’t, where was he?

Scrying, he thought suddenly. He could scrye and see where he was. That might work.

\--

They talked for another half hour or so before Ezra realized it was high time he was getting back.

“I should go,” he said guiltily, “before Crowley raises that army you mentioned.”

Madam Tracy nodded. “That would be best, dear,” she said placidly. “Try not to start a war today, could you please? I do like things rather the way they are.”

Ezra smiled. “I’ll do my best. And – well I know I can’t thank you, but I…” he struggled for a way to word it that wouldn’t strain her hospitality and came up short. “It was kind of you to receive an unexpected visitor and make time for me.”

Madam Tracy made a big show of hugging him and straightening his coat and tie and packing a few wax-paper-wrapped biscuits into his pockets before taking him to the nearest portal for the trip home.

“You know how to do this?” she said worriedly. “You had the stone to help you on the way here.”

“I think so,” Ezra said. “I just focus as clearly as I can on where I want to go?”

“That’s right,” Madame Tracy said. She laid a cool fingertip on the center of his forehead. “I’ll help you focus on it, clarify the image a little. We can’t have you ending up in the wrong Dark Keep after all,” she said with a wink.

Ezra took a few deep breaths and stilled his mind. He decided to focus as clearly as he could on his room at the castle. Eyes squeezed shut in concentration, he built an image in his mind of the bed with its white coverlet, the swirling carving on the bedposts, the soft rug on the floor. He added as much as he could to the image until it was as clear as he could make it, and gratefully accepted the help from Madam Tracy to solidify it. 

When it was as clear as he could make it, he opened his eyes and smiled at his friend. “I hope to see you again soon,” he said, “and in happier circumstances.”

And with the image held firmly in his mind, he stepped directly onto the portal.

\--

It was nothing like the trip over. Instead of an instantaneous zap from place to place, Ezra found himself floating quite slowly through a cold, white place that appeared to have no distinguishing features aside from small white things fluttering around in the air -- were they snow? No, he thought, it looked more like small bits of paper. He tried to catch one but they eluded his grip. The air around him felt viscous, like he was moving through mud. Everything pulled on him in all directions, and he felt at once both much too warm and unbelievably chilled.

 _Don’t panic,_ he thought. _Keep the image in your head. Keep thinking of home._ He pictured his bedroom, trying to keep the image clear.

He fought the temptation to turn around and look behind him, fearful that he might not be alone in here. Instead he made no attempt to alter his course and just tried to press forward through sheer will.

It felt like the atmosphere was pushing back against him, trying to slow him to a stop. He knew, somehow, that if he stopped moving, he would never emerge from this place.

The image of his bedroom was getting harder to maintain as his fear and discomfort grew. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and felt like he was slowly losing control of his vital functions. Was there air in here? he wondered wildly. Where was he really? He felt the tendrils of panic wrapping around him and fought against it, trying hard to hold it off.

 _Crowley,_ a part of his brain shrieked.

\--

Crowley had come to a decision. This was too dire for scrying. He was going to need to get Griane involved, so that they could combine their still-depleted power reserves and try to figure out where Ezra was. He stood up and was preparing to leave to find her when he abruptly froze.

He was suddenly aware that something was desperately wrong. He couldn’t identify how he knew, but he did.

There was no time. He needed to do something _right now_.

Crowley dropped to his knees in the middle of the room, summoned as much concentration and power as he could, and reached out for the essence of Ezra.  
  


_\--_

Try as he might, Ezra found the image of his bedroom slipping away from him. He fought to continue to put one foot in front of the other, feeling like a man walking uphill into the wind. His breathing was becoming shallower and he could tell he was making very little progress. He was a fool. He was an utter fool. He knew beyond a doubt that he was as good as lost.

Suddenly, clear as a beacon, it came to him – he was holding onto the wrong image. He didn’t need to imagine his bedroom or the kitchen or any other place in the dark keep. Those weren’t home. He needed to picture Crowley. The man he _loved_. This was the beating heart of him, the home he was clinging too – Crowley, just Crowley, not any particulars of place or furnishings.

The image that popped immediately into his mind was sharp and vivid. Crowley’s worried face, his red hair loose from its bonds and spilling down over his shoulders in clumps, his whiskey-golden eyes searching for him. Crowley. He took an easier breath and added as much detail as he could to the image, recalling the smell and touch and taste of him, and layering on all the emotions that Crowley brought to his world.

_Love. Anger. Passion. Charm. Comfort. Joy. Tension. Delight. Frustration. Desire. Friendship._

The image in his mind began to glow as if it were lit by the sun, the pull of the environment around him loosened considerably, and Ezra felt himself begin to speed up.

He tumbled out of the portal and doubled over, gasping for breath. Sweet, sweet air rushed into his lungs, and he gulped it down, before he found himself engulfed in a hug so hard it threatened to rip the breath from him yet again.

\--

Crowley leapt to his feet when he heard the _thump_ of Ezra arriving, and blinked at him several times as if trying to clear his vision of a sudden series of spots and sparkles that floated there. Ezra? he thought as his vision came into focus.

It was him. It was definitely him.

Without a word, he launched himself at Ezra and wrapped himself around him, squeezing hard. _Gods and demons,_ he thought, _I thought I’d lost you this time_. He breathed in the scent of his hair, feeling oddly dizzy.

Ezra squeaked in protest and Crowley reluctantly loosened his grip a little, his face darkening with fury and the initial relief wore off. He gripped Ezra’s shoulders, hard, as he leaned back to look him over.

“Are you all right?” Crowley demanded. “Are you hurt? Injured?”

Ezra shook his head, noting that Crowley didn’t look all that good himself. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said. “Are you?”

Crowley hissed. “Of course I’m fine,” he snarled. “I’m not the idiot who jumped through a portal without knowing how they work or what’s wrong with them.”

He stepped back, raised an admonishing finger to continue the lecture, and collapsed unconscious to the floor.

“Crowley!” Ezra shouted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, there is nothing in fae legend that says the fae can't sneeze. That just came out of Madam Tracy's mouth and amused me so much that I had to leave it in. :)


	8. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is helpless, and it falls upon Ezra to keep up appearances and find allies in the Dark Keep. Can he pull it off?

“Crowley!” Ezra shouted, running to his side as his love crumpled to the floor in front of him. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

He cradled Crowley’s head in his hands, checking his breathing and his pulse. (Did Fae have a pulse? He wondered briefly. Apparently so, as he found one where he expected to.)

The prince didn’t answer. He lay where he was, looking pale and drawn, breathing shallowly.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he murmured. Without a thought, he scooped up Crowley as if he weighed no more than a ragdoll and placed him carefully on the bed, then sat next to him holding his pale, cold hand. “What do I do for you, love?”

He retrieved a wet cloth from the washroom and carefully washed Crowley’s face, loosened his collar and removed his boots, then covered him with a blanket to keep him warm. His chest rose and fell evenly and if it weren’t for his incredible pallor, Ezra might have mistaken him for simply being asleep.

He didn’t know what to do to help, Ezra fretted; he realized he knew little about Crowley’s basic biology and how it might differ from a human’s. He also realized that calling for help while Crowley was in a highly vulnerable state might be dangerous; he understood that in the shifting currents and alliances of the unseelie court, Crowley’s current state was akin to weakness to many of his retinue. Who could he trust? Likely Beelzebub, he knew. And almost certainly Griane.

With one last look at Crowley to ensure he was stable, he stepped across the room and pressed the button that summoned the redcaps.

A knock at the door a few seconds later alerted him to their arrival. He cracked open the door.

“Lord Crowley requires his sister, the Lady Griane,” he said, his voice firm with command. “Please ask her to come as quickly as possible.”

For once, the redcaps gave him no grief and disappeared to see to it.

\--

Griane arrived shortly, stepping into the room without knocking. Ezra wasn’t alarmed; she was the only one who could currently enter the apartment without his or Crowley’s intervention; they’d coded the vestibule doors and the hidden arch to the apartment to accept her hand and open.

“What happened?” she said, taking in the scene around the room – Ezra awash in panic, Crowley looking almost lifeless on the bed, save for the rise and fall of his chest, the open door to the closet and the portal thrumming within it.

“It’s my fault,” Ezra stammered. “I – I went through a portal and couldn’t get back, and – and I think I was dying in there, I was stuck – and Crowley did _something¸_ I don’t know what, to pull me out – and when I arrived he just collapsed.”

Griane gazed him for an excruciating moment. “We will discuss this further,” she said simply, “but let me see to my brother first.” She swept to the bedside, and Ezra, ashamed, stepped back to allow her to get as close to Crowley as possible.

She sat next to Crowley on the bed and laid her hands on his temples, eyes closed as she assessed him. Ezra hovered nervously, watching. A paranoid part of his mind rang out a warning. Did Crowley trust Griane completely? Was this safe? He knew there was little trust in the world of Fae, but he had to assume that the bonds between brother and sister were strong enough to prevent one from seeking the other’s downfall, correct?

Griane began to hum quietly and a peaceful golden light surrounded Crowley. Even without magic, he could feel the healing calm in that glow. The light formed itself to Crowley’s body and slowly, gradually sank into his skin until it was just beneath the surface, a faint sheen still emitting from his pores.

When she removed her hands and stood up, Crowley appeared to be resting more comfortably. His breathing was deeper and the tension in his limbs had faded. He looked more like he was sleeping than dying, Ezra thought.

“He has exhausted his resources almost completely,” Griane said, and Ezra found himself unable to meet her gaze. “Between the trow and whatever he did to rescue you, he’s sent himself into a state of what you would call coma. This is very rare.”

“Will he –” Ezra swallowed. “Will he recover?”

“He will, in a day or two,” she said. “He just needs rest now, to allow his energy to replenish. Now I suggest you tell me how this occurred.”

He filled Griane in on the whole sequence of events, not sparing himself or making excuses for his idiocy.

“Please don’t do anything to harm Madam Tracy,” he said as he finished. “She didn’t know I was coming, and she’s done nothing wrong.”

Griane eyed him coolly. “Madam Tracy is not the one worthy of punishment here,” she said. “I would not be surprised if my brother feels the same.”

Ezra swallowed. He knew Crowley wasn’t going to _punish_ him, not physically anyway, but he did know there would be repercussions for his actions. Would he cut short his six month stay and send him home? He hoped not. He just hoped Crowley would speak to him after he awoke. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“We have more immediate problems though,” Griane continued. “First of all, there’s the fact that my brother is highly vulnerable right now in a way that we are usually not. He must be guarded at all times.”

“I will stay with him,” Ezra said.

“He requires more protection than that,” she said, dismissively. “I will call in extra guards for the vestibule and shut off the servant portals completely until he is fully recovered. You will have to manage on your own for providing food and drinks for the two of you until he is awake.”

Ezra nodded. “That’s not a problem.”

“And then there is the issue of the banquet tonight,” she continued.

The banquet. He’d forgotten. Crowley had arranged for a banquet to celebrate the end of his sister’s stay before she returned to the Shining Court.

“Can we cancel it?” he asked.

“Not without arousing suspicion,” she said. “And he can’t simply not attend.”

Ezra eyed Crowley’s sleeping form in confusion. There didn’t seem to be any possibility of him being awake and alert by this evening, from what Griane had said. “How do we do that?”

Griane gave him a cool smile. “I have a thought on that. It both solves this problem and allows you to begin making your amends.”

\--

Ezra looked at himself in the mirror, turning one way and then the other and trying to get used to the new, unfamiliar reflection there.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked Griane, who watched behind him. “I get the feeling this is just going to make Crowley angrier at me.”

“At this point, I believe we can just assume his anger as a given,” Griane said. “The best we can do is to ensure his safety in any way we can.”

They both gazed into the mirror for a moment longer. Ezra moved his arm experimentally and watched as the image of Lord Crowley moved his arm in the mirror. He turned and tall, pointy Lord Crowley turned in response. He stuck out his tongue, tapped his toes, and wiggled. The creature in the mirror parroted all his movements. It was downright eerie.

“How long will this glamour last?” he asked. “Is this like the Earth story where at the stroke of midnight I turn back into a human?”

“Or a pumpkin?” Griane said. “No, it will hold until I release it. Your shape and voice are those of my brother until I remove the glamour. But you must behave like him, convincingly. You must move and speak as if you were the lord of the realm, and not – you know. You.”

Ezra straightened up his posture and did his best to look a little more regal and imperious. He removed the smile from his face and put on the slight frown that seemed to be Crowley’s default expression. He scowled at Griane in the mirror.

“That’s a little better,” she said. “Now here’s how this is going to work.”

\--

 _Only an hour, maybe two,_ Ezra breathed to himself as he waited behind the curtain for the herald to announce Crowley’s – his – arrival to the banquet. Griane said he only had to pull this off for a short time; sit at the head of the table, receive obeisance, look bored or grumpy, say as little as possible. After that, it was not uncommon for Crowley to stalk off mid-celebration.

He turned to look to Griane beside him, who was looking her usual regal, unruffled self as she waited.

He heard the trumpets and the booming voice of the herald announcing their time to enter.

Ezra straightened his shoulders, affected what he thought of as Lord Crowley’s usual cool-guy slouch, and tried to keep his hips loose as they strode into the banquet hall. They stopped at the top of the stairway to take in the regard of the crowd, then made their way to the high table on its platform and were seated. Goblins served them wine in rock crystal glasses and then skittered away.

Ezra threw himself into the large, ornamental chair meant for him and sat in what he thought of as a chaotic manner, one leg thrown over the other as he took a long, sneering look around the hall. The room was packed with tables arranged in a large U-shape, leaving an open area in the middle for dancing, revelry, and approach to the platform they were seated on to pay homage. At the far end, a group of small, winged creatures were playing music on a set of horns and strings, and the resulting cavalcade of sound rang trippingly around the hall. Ezra had to resist the urge to tap his foot in time to it; Crowley wouldn’t do that, he was sure. Crowley was much too cool for that.

Lady Griane met his eye meaningfully, and he knew it was time for the moment she had coached him for.

He stood up and was immediately gratified when the entire room fell silent as if a switch had been thrown. Hundreds of eyes fastened on him and even the musicians stopped to listen.

Ezra raised his voice and spoke. “Creatures of the unseelie, I bid you welcome to the banquet. Tonight, we bid farewell to my sister, the Lady Griane de Dannan, Queen of the Shining Court, and show her our respect for her assistance in the judgment over the solitary fae. May you eat, drink, and make merry this evening in her honor!” He raised his glass. “Sláinte!”

An answering cheer of “Sláinte agatsa!” rang out in return, and Ezra drained his glass fully in a single gulp, signaling the start to the party. 

He sat back down and tried hard not to glance to Griane for her approval. Crowley would never. Instead he noted a servant hovering nearby and waved a hand imperiously for him to refill his cup.

Griane inclined her head graciously as he looked her way, the hint of a smile on her face, and Ezra slouched back in his chair to sample the first of the dishes that were brought to him.

\--

To say that the next two hours dragged was a massive understatement. Ezra’s mind was constantly on Crowley, who they’d left well-guarded with warriors hand chosen by Griane and extra wards laid over the apartments. This did, however, have the side effect of making it easier to scowl at everyone, which he supposed added a layer of verisimilitude to the proceedings.

Throughout the meal, a steady stream of courtiers and creatures approached the podium to bow and offer fealty; Ezra thought back to how Lord Crowley had dealt with this at the first banquet they had attended together and responded with cool nods of the head, dismissive hand gestures, and the occasional word or two. No one looked askance at him, and he began to gain confidence that he was pulling this off.

Hastur was one of the last to approach, looking oddly ill and absolutely unable to make eye contact. He gave a deep bow and stayed there for longer than was usual. Ezra wasn’t sure what that meant, so he merely waved him away dismissively, which seemed to work. Hastur all but ran for a back corner of the room, where he disappeared into the crowd. 

When he looked up next, Beelzebub was approaching. His throat tightened in anxiety and he fought to keep it off his face.

Beelzebub bowed in front of the high table and then circled around to come behind it, where Ezra indicated they could have a seat at one of the extra chairs.

“Have you located the human?” Beelzebub said quietly.

“Actually, yes,” Ezra as Lord Crowley said. He took a moment to put some of the anger he was imagining Crowley was feeling into his voice. “I did not permit him to attend tonight. He is a fool and is being dealt with accordingly.”

Beelzebub eyed him, quietly impressed. So, Lord Crowley was finally taking a stronger hand with his inamorata? This could only be good. “He will learn,” they said. “You realize we are back at ground zero on the changeling quezztion.”

“We are,” Ezra sighed in Crowley’s voice. “But perhaps the witch’s visit will reveal something.”

“The witch is coming here?” Beelzebub asked. “When?”

Ezra turned Crowley’s piercing gaze onto Beelzebub. “It has not yet been decided. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, your majezzty,” Beelzebub said. “I just hadn’t realized.”

\--

Word appeared to get around quickly that the Prince’s human was undergoing some form of house arrest, from the amount of humorous comments he got from those idiots who dared to mention it for the rest of the session. Ezra noted with interest how much it appeared to raise Crowley in the court’s esteem to think that he was being harsher on his human. He had, perhaps, never realized what a potential liability Crowley’s softness to him might be. He added this thought to the pile of things he knew he needed to do some thinking on later.

Finally, Griane gave him a subtle sign indicating he could safely go. Ezra, seeking to further bolster Crowley’s standing, stood up dramatically, drained his goblet and smashed it to the floor, where it shattered into a million pieces. The room cheered and suddenly all kinds of breaking of glasses commenced. Hrm. Perhaps that wasn’t wise. Nonetheless, he gave the room one last scowl and then stalked from the room with the best dramatic cloak-swirl he could manage.

He wanted to run back to the apartments in his eagerness to get back to Crowley, but he made himself maintain a stately swagger, knowing he must be convincing to the end. He even yelled at a few redcaps on the way.

Finally, though, he made his way through the guards at both the vestibule and the inner door to the apartments, and then ran to the bedroom.

Crowley was unchanged, lying peacefully with a faint golden sheen surrounding him. Ezra sat down carefully next to him on the bed and scooped up his hand in his, watching his face as his chest rose and fell.

Ezra felt the reality of what he’d done seeping over him in ways he hadn’t had time to consider before now. His actions, whatever the justification, had hurt Crowley. He’d ignored well-meaning advice, insisted on knowing everything, and taken his resulting fear and used it to justify a tremendous risk for which Crowley was paying the price. He looked at his love, lying motionless on the bed, completely vulnerable to any who came upon him, and wondered how he could have been so, so foolish.

“Please wake up,” he murmured. 

\--

Ezra phone pinged while he was watching over Crowley at some indeterminate hour that night. It was Anathema.

> _My travel plans are set. Arriving next Tuesday._

It took Ezra a moment to change gears. He wondered if he should tell her about Crowley’s condition. Best not to, he decided, in case the information could be intercepted. Ezra was determined to turn over a new leaf – he knew he needed to start thinking through the ramifications of his actions, how they could reflect on or harm those around him.

> _That’s good,_ he typed back after a long pause. _How are you traveling? Can’t come by portal._
> 
> _I know; going through the hill like you did the first time. Griane will meet me._
> 
> _Even better,_ he typed.
> 
> _I can trust her, right?_

Ezra thought for a long moment.

> _Yes, I believe you can. We will see you after you get here, my dear. Let me know when you’ve arrived._

\--

Ezra spent the entire night and half of the next day curled up beside Crowley. After hours and hours of watching and thinking and berating himself, he finally fell into a broken sleep for a few hours, instinctively curled tightly and protectively around his partner.

He woke up, not yet sure where he was, to the sensation of someone pushing him.

“Ezra, get off –” a voice mumbled. “Can’t. Breathe.” The shoving at his upper body continued.

“Crowley!” Ezra shouted, coming fully alert and rolling off Crowley to let him up. “You’re awake! Oh my god.”

Crowley swung his legs off the bed and heaved himself up, then leaned over and held his head in his hands like he had a crushing headache. “What happened?” he groaned.

Ezra swallowed. He didn’t remember? He knew better than to hope this might ease things in his favor. No, if Crowley didn’t know, he was simply going to have to tell him.

“You exhausted yourself,” he said quietly. “Saving me. Griane put you in some kind of healing trance. You’ve been asleep for about a day.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s all so fuzzy.”

Ezra came around to Crowley’s side of the bed and brought him a glass of water. He gently removed his face from his hands and offered the cup to him, and Crowley drank gratefully.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Ezra said. “I couldn’t have borne it if my actions caused you any permanent harm.”

Crowley looked up, confused and concerned. “Are you all right? What do you mean your –” he paused, and Ezra got the distinct displeasure of watching Crowley’s face change as everything came flooding back. He watched his expression pass through a dozen or more emotions too quick to be named, and then settle into a cold, hard mask. He took his hands back and stared at Ezra, hard.

“So, you remember, then,” Ezra stated.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble, Ezra,” Crowley hissed. “How dare you go hop off through a portal knowing they’re malfunctioning? You almost died!”

Ezra swallowed hard. “I didn’t – I didn’t think – the servants use them all the time, so I thought it would be okay.”

“Servant portals are different,” Crowley said. “You should’ve known better. And you tricked Hastur into telling you how to use them. I nearly discorporated him when he told me, do you understand that?”

That explains the long bow at the banquet, then, Ezra thought. “You’re absolutely right, my dear,” he said quietly. “I behaved appallingly. I let my fear get the better of me, and I ran.”

Crowley shut his eyes and sighed.

“But I came back,” Ezra said quietly. “Or I tried to.”

He was doing rather a poor job of this, he realized. And he had quite so many things he needed to say! They seemed so easy to express when he was practicing them in his head, but in the face of the upset he’d caused, the words seemed to float away.

Crowley scoffed and attempted to stand up, only to wobble wildly. Ezra rushed to grab his elbow and help him out, but Crowley shook him off and insisted on doing it himself.

“How long did Griane say it was going to be before I was better?” Crowley said. He refused to look directly at Ezra.

“Another day or two,” Ezra answered.

Crowley laid back down, turned his back to Ezra, and fell almost immediately back to sleep.

Ezra, no longer feeling quite so free to curl up around him, pulled up a chair and a book and kept watch from a few feet away.

\--

Griane stopped in later, before taking her leave. She looked from her brother sleeping on the bed, to Ezra, questioning.

“He has awoken?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ezra said. “He was up a few hours ago, for just a bit. He looked much better.”

Griane nodded. “And you are still living, so this is a good sign,” she added.

Ezra blushed. “We haven’t really spoken about it much yet. He didn’t remember at first, and then… well, then he did. And he just went back to sleep.”

Griane raised an eyebrow. “Gathering his strength, I suppose, to deal with you.”

“What would you do in his place?” he asked, oddly emboldened.

She thought for a moment. “Oh, probably turn you to a statue for a few weeks,” she said pleasantly and chillingly. “Perhaps a month. Being turned to stone does wonders for the unruly, I find.”

Ezra was almost certain she was teasing, but he couldn’t tell for sure, and then her attention was no longer on him as she sat down on the edge of the bed and moved to wake her brother.

“I’ll let you two talk,” Ezra said, slipping away to his room.

\--

Ezra waited in his room, pretending to read but really worrying. He made sure to leave the door open to avoid giving the impression that he was hiding away. He heard Crowley and Griane conversing quietly for a long while, then he heard them saying their goodbyes. She left shortly after, and Ezra heard the unmistakable sounds of Crowley’s footsteps heading his way.

Crowley stopped in the doorway and cast a glance around the room, taking in the fire in the grate and Ezra sitting tensely on the edge of the bed. “Last time I was here,” he said sharply, “these doors were barred against me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said. “I know I didn’t handle that well at all.”

Crowley frowned. “I figured I’d find you packing.”

Ezra blanched. “Are you sending me home?”

“No. Are you _going_ home?”

“No!” Ezra said. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno,” Crowley bit out, flopping down aggressively in a bedside chair. “Because you found out I’m more fiendish than you thought?”

“I don’t think you’re a fiend,” Ezra said, earnestly. “Not at all. I was just surprised and confused by what I saw at court, and it took me some time to get my head around it.”

Crowley hrmed noncommittally. “So,” he snapped, “where exactly did you go? The least you could do is fill me in.”

“Will you promise not to harm anyone?” Ezra asked.

If possible, Crowley looked even more angry at that. “I’m not going to _kill_ someone for talking to you, Ezra. Honestly. Is this what you think of me now?”

“I – I went to see Madam Tracy,” Ezra said. “In Griane’s court. She helped me understand a lot about court life and politics the last time I saw her, and I just wanted to talk to her again.”

Crowley’s eyes glittered, and Ezra could see he didn’t care for this idea, his lover discussing him with a stranger. “And? Did she tell you that I’m a _monster_? Little more than a demon?” Ezra opened his mouth to protest but Crowley’s words were coming faster, and he couldn’t find a space to insert himself. “Someone you were a fool to have trusted?”

“No,” Ezra said, as simply as he could. “Actually, she told me off. Said I was a fool if I thought I could pick and choose the pieces of you I was going to accept, and that you are both gifted with immense powers and burdened with unfathomable responsibilities. And that I needed to find a way to accept and support all of that if I wanted to be with you.”

Crowley blinked and sat back in his chair, obviously surprised. “Well I don’t know who this woman is, but I approve of her,” he finally said. “Invite her for dinner sometime.”

Ezra swallowed. “And… and I realized,” he said, “that I haven’t been fair to you in some ways. I haven’t thought about the ways some of my actions affect you, especially when I’m thrown off balance. I don’t want to be a liability for you, or cause you to look weak, or to harm you. Oh, my dear, when I thought – when I saw that you were ill because of me, because of what I’d done –” 

He couldn’t continue, and he found he couldn’t look up anymore either. He stared at his hands, fidgeting on his lap, and tried to reign in his emotions.

He was still staring down when the tips of Crowley’s feet appeared in his field of vision.

“Ezra,” Crowley said.

Ezra examined his socks. They were nice socks. Black, of course. They seemed to fit well.

“Ezra!” Crowley repeated.

Ezra dragged his eyes up to meet Crowley’s, expecting daggers and finding, instead, some degree of softness.

“I understand,” Crowley said. “You got scared. It’s not every day you watch your boyfriend practically kill someone with their brain.”

“Well you told me not to come watch,” Ezra murmured.

“I did,” Crowley agreed. “You should have listened to me. Probably best that you didn’t, though. There’s a dark side to me, Ezra. You were going to see it eventually. Are you still here with me, now that you have?”

Was he – what? Of course he was, Ezra thought, before his brain kicked into gear and he realized he was just staring instead of answering. He looked up into Crowley’s golden eyes, which were awash with barely hidden anxiety.

“Yes of course I am!” he said vehemently, taking Crowley’s hands. “I’m here. I promise.”

Crowley gathered him into a crushing hug, during which Ezra decided he didn’t really care all that much for breathing anyways, and then somehow, they were kissing and falling back onto the bed. Neither of them thought anymore for quite some time.

\--

Some time later, Ezra got up and went to get them both some wine. He padded back to the bed and handed a goblet to Crowley, who was propped up with pillows and looking mouth-watering with his naked torso and flaming hair sprawled out against the dark sheets. He looked, Ezra thought, like a painting. He looked fey and wild and unpredictable, and Ezra wanted him again, right then.

“Enough leering,” Crowley grumbled, amused. “I’m still recovering my strength; I won’t have you exhausting me with your unchecked libido.”

Ezra laughed. “Just admiring, my dear. You look like a work of art.”

Crowley preened a little.

“Speaking of art,” he added, “your sister thinks you should turn me into a statue for a month.”

“Yes, she told me so,” Crowley replied. “I’m considering it.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Might be.”

“No, you _aren’t_ ,” Ezra repeated fondly, and Crowley gave him a small grin.

Crowley patted the bed beside him. “Let’s get some sleep, please?” he said. “It’s been a very long day.”

\--

Behind pillars, inside caves, in dark and dismal corners, the members of the court whispered to each other. Portals were malfunctioning, travel was restricted, and no one knew why. Their dread prince appeared to be at the height of his powers and would likely deal with it soon; he had vanquished the trow, after all, and sent it off to the shadow realms, _and_ he appeared to have taken a rather hard line with his companion, punishing him for some unknown crime by confining him to the apartment. What this crime might have been was the subject of intense speculation. Much as many members of the court had come to like Ezra, they nonetheless always enjoyed watching mischief come to humans. It was one of their favorite sports.

In addition, an intriguing new rumor had begun to circulate. There were whispers about a warning delivered by the witches of the southern bogs – something about a prophetess arising who would tear the realm? Who could this be, they wondered, and what would she do? Whoever it was, they suspected that this might be the root of all the problems facing them. 

They formed theories, and shared notes, and the rumors swirled like leaves in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late (but hopefully not a dollar short) -- wow this chapter was a hard one to write for some reason! Hope you enjoyed my version of the body swap and also a little fun exploring various people's assumptions about what Crowley should "do about Ezra". :) As always, he is too big of a love-drunk softy to be particularly hard on him. 
> 
> Thank you for reading -- I adore your comments and can't wait to write more chapters for you! That said, a new job is frying my brain and twice a week posting may be a thing of the past. We shall see how far I get by Sunday.


	9. Of Books, Lessons, and Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra attacks some research, Hastur and Ligur react unexpectedly, and Anathema continues Adam's education.

Life got back to normal surprisingly quickly after Crowley recovered; Ezra realized it seemed to take him longer to get over what he’d done than it did Crowley. Perhaps this was fair. He was well-aware he’d gotten off lightly – Crowley from a year ago would have undoubtedly banished him or locked him in a room or simply not spoken to him for weeks. Crowley today, Ezra had to admit, had changed. He’d become – not softer, exactly, but more reachable. Able to see things from Ezra’s view more easily, and without the massive blowups they used to endure first. And now, Ezra thought, it was time for him to hone the same skills.

One of his first decisions was that he needed to learn something more about Crowley’s physical makeup; he hadn’t forgotten the helplessness of not knowing the least thing about how to help when Crowley was unconscious. Given the life they led, he knew it was very likely that this was far from the last time he would see Crowley injured and in need; he was never going to be powerless in such a circumstance again.

He eyed Crowley as they sipped their coffees and ate fresh bread at breakfast one morning and thought about how to bring this up.

“What?” Crowley said, mock grumpy. “Why are you staring? Is there something stuck in my teeth?” He bared his teeth at Ezra in a completely feral grin.

“No, no,” Ezra said. “I just had something I wanted to ask you.”

Crowley leaned back. “Spit it out then,” he said.

“When you were unconscious, after – you know, after the portal,” Ezra said, “I wasn’t sure how to help you because I didn’t know anything about your biology and how it differs from mine.”

Crowley looked surprised. “Well, we’re made from the same general model,” he said. “There are undoubtedly some differences, but you know – head, neck, trunk, arms, legs…” He moved a few of his limbs demonstratively.

“Yes, but I didn’t even know if you were supposed to have a pulse!” Ezra explained. “I didn’t have any idea what to do for you. Can you get fevers? Do you get ill? You’ve certainly never so much as caught a cold when I’ve been with you.”

“In general, no, we don’t get ill,” Crowley said, “not in the way that you’re thinking. We are subject to maladies of our own, though. They are rare and would seem strange to you.”

“Well this is exactly what I mean!” Ezra exclaimed. “I want to know more about you – because heaven knows, I’m most likely going to see you hurt again at some point. And we should both know a little more about how to patch each other up.”

Crowley scratched his chin. “I suppose that makes sense. What did you have in mind?” He waggled his eyebrows suddenly. “Is this an elaborate way of asking me to play doctor with you? Because we can get to work on that right now.”

Ezra laughed. “No, actually. I was wondering if there are any books around here on fae physiology, or medical or healing books for your kind.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That is _so_ much less fun, angel.” He sighed and waved his hand in the general direction of their library. “I think there are a few in there, but you’ll have to hunt for them. And if not, as much as he likes to eat the pages, Hastur probably knows best what’s in the records room.”

Ezra swallowed. Hastur. This was a situation he hadn’t yet worked up to facing. He couldn’t imagine Hastur was pleased with him after realizing he’d used him to extract dangerous and compromising information about portals and nearly gotten him killed by Crowley in retribution.

“Well,” Ezra said faintly, “perhaps I’ll just look around here first, by myself. I can’t imagine Hastur’s going to be incredibly pleased to see me.”

Crowley shrugged. “You’re probably right. But for god’s sake, don’t just apologize to him. He’s an unseelie, not a schoolboy. You’d insult him.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” Ezra asked plaintively.

“I don’t know,” Crowley said coolly, still a little reserved on the subject. “You’ll have to figure that out.”

 _Fair enough_ , Ezra thought. He put it on the back burner, though, and returned to the subject at hand.

“There was a book I saw in Beelzebub’s quarters about humans,” he said. “Might be useful for you to get a quick sense of how to fix me if anything went wrong. Do you think it would it bother them if I asked to borrow it?”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t see why it would. Feel free!”

Ezra picked up his coffee and took a long, satisfied swallow. “I’ll stop over later this morning.” He took a second sip. "Doctor later, though?" 

Crowley grinned. 

\--

Ezra spent the next few hours combing through their private library – which was an immense task, given that it spanned two floors, consisting nearly entirely of bookshelves, except for where a fireplace or reading nook had been wedged in. He was more familiar with the lower sections, so instead he took the circular stairs to the upper level, which consisted of an open walkway around all four sides that looked down over a golden railing into the lower level. Here there was nothing but shelves, running floor to ceiling, with a ladder on each wall to help one reach the higher tomes.

Sorting through these was an immense task. He spent the first hour trying to discern an organizational principle and when he finally did find a section that seemed to be relevant, he was frustrated to find that most of the books were oddly specific.

> _The Mating Habits of Kelpies, A Survey._  
>  Trolls: Lifespan and Traits  
>  Fertility Spells for Newts, Salamanders, and Fire Lizards  
>  Taking Apart a Pixie: A Memoir

He finally found one or two that seemed like they might help and brought them down to the lower level. He placed them on the side table next to his favorite chair, and then, satisfied, he headed off to Beelzebub’s quarters to see if they were home.

\--

At the sound of a knock, Anathema looked up from the paintbrushes she was washing out at the sink. Adam Young stood in the doorway, his uniform’s blazer slightly askew as always, collar rumpled, one shoe untied. It was like he simply had too much energy to allow any part of his person to remain put together. She smiled at him fondly.

“Hi, Adam,” she said. “Done with classes for the day?”

He came in and plopped a pile of belongings down on the floor. “Yep,” he said. He filled her in on classes, what his ridiculous history teacher had gotten wrong today, and the latest gossip about kids and staff while she finished the cleanup from her last class of the day. Finally, when she had everything put away and the room restored to rights, they sat down at the worktable near the windows and turned to the task at hand.

“Did you finish the reading I lent you?” Anathema asked.

“I did! Wrote down all the questions I had and a couple things I think they’re just wrong about,” Adam said, as his face brightened with enthusiasm. He pulled the book in question out of his backpack.

As he launched into ten thousand and a half questions about the laws of magick, Anathema felt herself splitting into two equal parts – one engaged in and responding to the conversation, and another just stepping back to admire him for a moment. Adam Young, she had to admit, was a remarkable boy. He was brilliant and insightful, completely irreverent, and not afraid to disagree with anyone about anything. Anathema enjoyed him immensely.

“Good, then,” she said. “So, I think today we’re going to practice casting and opening a circle. It’s the start and end of every ritual, and something you need to be able to do easily and well.”

Adam looked around. “Right here?”

“No,” she said, thinking about how to keep him the safest. “I think we’ll do it at Ezra’s. His house is the most well-shielded place in the village.”

\--

Ezra stared at Beelzebub’s door, still put off by the large carving of a fly in the center of it, then carefully picked up the immense door knocker and rapped three times.

He heard movement inside, but it took several minutes before the door opened. Beelzebub, Archduke of the Unseelie court, stared at him with their usual unimpressed gaze. Ezra noted they were in their usual stylish but gender-neutral attire – black waist coat over leggings, brilliant purple scarf used as a sash, a strange woolen cap pulled over their dark, raggedly-cut hair.

“Ezzzzra,” Beelzebub said neutrally. “Can I help you?”

“I have a favor to request,” Ezra said politely. “May I come in?”

Beelzebub stood back, holding the door open before them.

Ezra waited to be shown into the parlor or asked to sit, but no such invitation seemed to be forthcoming. “Erm,” he finally said, uncomfortable. “I’m searching for books on human and fae physiology, and last time I was here I noticed you had one in your study. Crowley said it was all right if I asked you whether I could borrow it.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “You want to read about human anatomy?”

Ezra nodded. “I’m trying to gather information on first aid skills for humans, for Crowley. In case we find ourselves in an emergency. I can explain much of it to him but having illustrations and diagrams to refer to would be a huge help.”

Beelzebub stared for another interminable moment, until Ezra felt himself becoming annoyed. He fidgeted uncomfortably and then frowned.

“My apologies,” he bit out. “I can see the question is unwelcome. I will leave you to your day.”

“No,” Beelzebub broke in, “you’re not imposing. I was just thinking what an odd creature you are. Come, show me the book you’re referring to.”

Ezra rolled his eyes behind Beelzebub’s back but followed them into the study. Juliet was there, sprawled out on the floor on her stomach, feet in the air, head down over a notebook.

“Why hello, Juliet!” Ezra said. “How nice to see you!”

Juliet looked up. “Ezra!” she sang out. “I know you.”

“Yes, you do,” Ezra said. “What are you working on?”

She looked down at the scribbled pages in front of her. “Oh, words. Birds. Curds. One of those.” She closed the notebook and sat up.

“Perhaps you can come spend some time with me sometime soon?” Ezra said, then glanced at Beelzebub, who nodded. Spending time with another human did seem to be helping her.

“I’ll speak to Crowley about it,” Beelzebub said. “Now where is the book you wanted?”

Ezra retraced his former path through the shelves, trying to remember, and finally noted the section where he’d seen it – a number of reference books on human medical and emotional conditions, with one book in particular that had caught his eye.

“This one,” he said, pulling out a thick tome that had obviously seen some use, as judged by the number of bent over pages and a few bookmarks sticking out of it.

Beelzebub scoffed. “That book? It wazzz of no use to me. Take it.”

\--

Ezra bid farewell and steeled himself to make his next stop, in the records room that functioned like a library, near where his old quarters had been. Like it or not, he needed to find Hastur, see what kind of damage he’d done, and ask for his help. 

He headed to the records library hoping to find Hastur there alone, but instead found Hastur and Ligur together, huddled over a scroll of some kind and making notes in a small notebook. From his spot in the doorway, Ezra could already see the ink stains and blotches, the mess they were making, but they were fully absorbed in what they were doing and didn’t appear to notice him.

“What about cinnabar?” he heard Ligur say. “Can we get that?”

“Easier than a moon rabbit,” Hastur muttered.

He cleared his throat, unwilling to eavesdrop, and they both looked up at him in surprise.

“Err, hello,” Ezra said, uncomfortably.

Hastur and Ligur both stared at him intensely for what felt like an eternity. Ezra felt waves of embarrassment wash over him, sure they were furious with him, and had just started to back out of the room when suddenly they both broke into smiles and got up to greet him.

“Ezra!” Ligur cried, clapping him on the shoulder. “You son of a bitch! The Dark Prince let you out, did he?”

“Uh, y-yes?” Ezra stammered.

“Heard you were under house arrest!” Hastur said fondly, and mimed punching him on the bicep. Ezra flinched. “You big bloody liar. You nearly got me bottled, you bastard!”

“How do you use a portal, Hastur?” Ligur mimicked in an insulting singsong. “I’m just curious!”

“Ha!” Hastur said, wiping his eyes with a grubby glove.

Ezra blinked, thoroughly confused. He allowed himself to be led into the room and seated in a chair near theirs as Hastur swept aside the notebooks and scrolls they’d been working on.

“You’re…” Ezra paused and swallowed. “You’re not angry?”

They both rolled their eyes, almost in perfect synchronicity.

“Ezra, Ezra,” Hastur said, jovially. “We’re impressed! You’re starting to fit in nicely here! Sneaking around, tricking people, betraying your friends – you’re really becoming an unseelie now!”

Ezra swallowed, wanting to protest. “I really – I don’t think that’s quite –”

Ligur cut in. “Everyone agrees,” he said, grinning. “Nice to see you shedding some of those human morals.”

“You’re a damned trickster!” Hastur exclaimed, looking almost proud. “I like to think you learned it from me.”

“Or me!” Ligur said. They continued to grin at him.

Ezra felt deeply, deeply uncomfortable with this line of conversation, but did at least believe them that they weren’t angry with him or plotting revenge.

“Well!” he said, trying to work his way back to solid ground. “Glad there’s no hard feelings! I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something.”

He left the library an hour later with contradictory emotions; on the one hand, he was quite gratified to have found most of the materials he would need, and he was of course pleased that Hastur still appeared to be favorably inclined towards him. On the other hand, he had a sense of roiling shame about what Hastur and Ligur had celebrated about him and his declining moral standards. Was he changing? Or had he always been a bastard?

He tried to put it out of his mind.

\--

Anathema and Adam stood in Ezra’s back garden as she walked Adam through the steps of casting a circle – beginning with breathing and focusing his attention, then ritually cleaning the space with smudging, sweeping, and salt. She let him do the cleaning, which he attacked with his usual intense seriousness, doing an excellent and thorough job. Then she demonstrated how to use her athame to mark the edge of the circle in a large, counterclockwise circle, sprinkle it with salt water, and use incense to seal it.

“The circle is cast,” she said firmly, then looked up at Adam. “Can you feel it?”

He held out his hands and focused and she again felt that surprising amount of energy he possessed, pushing against the barrier she’d erected.

“I can!” he said. “Can I try?”

Anathema reversed the process, releasing the elemental quarters and walking counterclockwise around the circle again with her athame, then stopped at the easternmost point.

“The circle is open,” she said, then let out a breath and allowed the last of the energy she’d raised dissipate into the ground.

She felt Adam watching her closely.

“Ok, now you try,” she said, handing him the knife. He began at the east edge of the circle, moving around counterclockwise three times while mimicking the movement and words he’d just seen, first with the knife, then with the salt, then calling each quarter.

He stopped after his third revolution and stood at the easternmost point.

“The circle is open,” he said loudly, and they both felt the thrum of power as his words became reality.

“Did I do it?” he asked.

“You know you did, you urchin,” she said. “I know you felt that jolt just now as much as I did.”

He grinned at her. “Now we do magick?”

She gave him a look. “We’re _already_ doing magick, Adam.”

“No, I mean, like _fun_ magick,” he said. “Call up a demon or something.” 

“No, we are not calling up a demon,” she said crisply. “Is that what you’re here for Adam? Because I’m not participating in that.” She looked at him hard while he examined his shoes intently. “I think that’s all for today,” she said. “Banish your circle and we’ll go practice some other skills inside.”

She ushered him into the house to sit at the kitchen table while she prepared tea. She thought hard as she brewed the peppermint tea and found some digestive biscuits in Ezra’s cupboards.

“What do you want to do magick for, Adam?” she asked, sitting down and placing a mug in front of each of them. “Do you know? It can’t be just because it’s cool.”

Adam thought. “Well it’s partly because it’s cool, and it’s partly because I kinda feel like I can sense something inside me. Whenever I’m around certain things I feel something kind of vibrating in me. It feels like power.”

Anathema took a deep sip, and employed a technique which had served her well over the years of not saying anything at all to guide the conversation, in order to let Adam fill the empty space. She knew he hadn’t told her everything.

He took the bait. “And I guess I want to know what’s out there. I want to see and touch and experience everything. And…” he paused. “I wanna try to talk to my mom. You said there were spirit guides, and we could… we could get in touch with them.”

Anathema nodded. Adam’s mom had died in childbirth, leaving her newborn in the care of her husband. Mr. Young was a decent man and kind-hearted, but the loss of his wife had wounded him deeply, and he gave in to a tendency to bury himself in his work after that, running the school. He was present for his son, ensuring his safety and upbringing and education, but she could tell that many of Adam’s emotional needs had been left unmet through his childhood years.

“I can see how that would be attractive,” Anathema said. “But these powers aren’t a game, and you can run a lot of risks if you don’t learn how to control them. You need to learn focus, and meditation, and visualization.”

Adam had heard this before. He knew it was true but focus and meditation and visualization were _boring_. He wanted results, not endless practice at centering his breathing and drawing light down or up through his body and holding and releasing energy. He had thought learning magic would be a lot more wands and explosions than quiet practice sessions sitting next to a timer and trying not to fall asleep by mistake.

“Let’s practice that deep meditation state again,” Anathema said, grabbing Ezra’s egg timer. “Fifteen minutes. Close your eyes.”

Adam sighed, and did as he was told.

\--

Back in the apartments, Ezra sat down to start flipping through a few of the scrolls and books he’d accumulated, making notes as he went. The fey, unsurprisingly, were somewhat secretive about their biology, probably because they didn’t want to expose any potential weaknesses to others, but he did manage to get a basic understanding of their circulatory and respiratory systems, which were largely similar to human’s. There appeared to be no information about their genetic makeup, and the diagrams of their nervous systems appeared to be somewhat different from what he expected. Ezra left the page he was puzzling over open and pulled Beelzebub’s book about humans towards him to see if he could find a diagram for comparison.

It was a standard medical manual from what looked like the 1950s, full of hand drawn illustrations and diagrams. Ezra noted the book had obviously seen a bit of use – he let out a gasp at the number of dog-eared pages. What a crime! Did Beelzebub have no respect for books? With a deep frown, he resolved to bring this up with them, and soon.

In addition to the dog-eared pages, there were about a half dozen pieces of paper slipped between various pages to mark a place. Ezra opened one of them at random and found it marked a section on sleep. Other markers indicated germ theory, vaccinations, and then several in a row in a section on reproduction and childbirth. Ezra wrinkled his nose, not really caring to see the diagrams in that last section, and turned instead to the index to locate the materials he’d wanted to find.

\--

“Adam,” Anathema said carefully. “You know I’m going to be away next week, right?”

“Yep,” he said. “Where’re you going?”

“To visit Ezra,” she said, trying to be casual.

“Where is that exactly?” Adam asked, looking excited. 

“Oh, you know,” she said, polishing her glasses. “Somewhere near Cornwall I think.”

Adam scoffed. “You all need to stop fibbing to me. I know he’s under the hill again. I mean, did you think I wouldn’t notice that his boyfriend was clearly _not human_? And how everything started getting really weird after we made the trip to the tor?”

Anathema sighed. “Yes, well, you’re way too observant,” she said. “But you’re right, obviously there’s more going on here than anyone is admitting to you.”

“Ha! I knew it!” he crowed.

“I can’t tell you everything yet,” she sighed, “but I will tell you that you’re involved in this too, and that circumstances in the near future will make it so that all of your questions will be answered. I’m going to see Ezra this weekend in preparation for telling you a lot more. Can you be patient until I get back?”

“I suppose,” he grumbled. “But do I ever get to go – wherever you’re going?”

She smiled. “Perhaps.”

\--

Anathema made it through the rest of her week, wrapping up things at school and leaving plans for the interim teacher who was replacing her, and arranging things at Jasmine Cottage so that everything would be exactly as she left it when she returned. She met with Adam once more, exacting promises from him to do nothing magickal in her absence or she would never teach him another thing, which he reluctantly agreed to, and then, finally, she woke up and found it was the morning of the day she was supposed to leave.

What did one bring along to fairyland, she wondered? Should she pack? Ezra had gone with very little the first time he went, nothing more than the clothes on his back and a satchel, and he’d done well enough. She thought hard, then put on her most intimidating-looking dress – the one with the black lace, long sleeved top and the long, blood-red skirt, and topped it off with her favorite black and grey shawl, and added black high-topped boots just to be practical. She looked in the mirror and was satisfied – she did not look like a pushover; she looked like someone to take seriously. This was good.

She found a small pouch and filled it with protective crystals and an amulet for safety that she’d been given by her coven, and then finally strung it and a pendant bearing an image of the goddess Hestia on a silver chain around her neck. Finally, she threw a notebook, her ritual knife, and several pens into a cross body bag, along with a few energy bars just in case she found herself in tricky circumstances, added a clean handkerchief, and decided she was ready to go.

One last thing, she thought, as she opened the black velvet bag Griane had given her and took out the small gold oak leaf, covered in pearls, that was her passport through the hill and badge of the Queen’s protection. She pinned it carefully to her shirt, then cast a small spell on the clasp to ensure that it couldn’t come open again unless she willed it.

With one last look in the mirror, she locked up and set out on her bicycle towards the tor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no one is more amazed than me that I got this done in time for Sunday posting. :) Perhaps there's a universal law where if you have a tortuous chapter where every word is like pulling teeth, the next one just slips right out onto the page. Thankfully, this was an easy one. 
> 
> You realize of course that Ezra is FAR more tortured about Hastur and Ligur’s enthusiastic embrace of his declining character than he would have been by their anger or disdain. I am torturing my poor human. 😂
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Leave me a comment if you have time - boy does that make me happy! 
> 
> Now to figure out what happens in the NEXT chapter.


	10. Through the Tor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema arrives in the Shining Court, Ezra spends more time with Juliet, and Crowley uncovers an alarming rumor.

It took Anathema almost ninety minutes to bicycle her way to the hill where they’d had their last standoff with Gabriel and his two fox-headed henchmen. She locked her bike carefully to a tree on the outskirts of the clearing and then stood for a moment, remembering the last time she was here.

It had not been a pleasant experience to say the least.

She and Ezra tried and failed to get into Faerie through the tor, then were attacked by the fox-headed Puskos twins, who fought viciously with them. When Gabriel arrived, he glamoured her into inaction as if she was no more than a doll and left her to watch helplessly as Ezra fought for his life. And then, when Gabriel finally got distracted and released her, she had snuck around from behind and ended up stabbing him in the back with her iron garden shears.

She allowed herself a deep, deep shudder. It had taken time and work to get over the feeling of having stabbed someone. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she was completely over it yet. She might never be.

“What am I doing?” she said to the trees. “Is this really a good idea?” They susurrated their leaves reassuringly but offered no direct answer.

Anathema took a moment to focus and ground herself, then closed her eyes and used her knowledge to call down the blessing and protections of the powers and spirits she worked with in her coven. Then, feeling reassured, she walked up to the top of the tor, checked the sky to ensure it was nearly sunset, and began spiraling down the hill in the way Ezra and Griane had instructed her.

The world went a little cockeyed for a moment, and she closed her eyes.

\--

“Welcome, witch,” a soothing voice said, and Anathema blinked, shaking her head to clear her mind. When the spots in her vision cleared, she saw she was in the same place – at the bottom of the hill – but something was different about nearly everything she looked at. The trees were a little wilder and the grass was a deeper shade of emerald, but the sky – the sky was what had really changed. Instead of being the golden, late-afternoon glow she had left, the sky here was dimly lit and greenish, as it sometimes looked on Earth right before a thunderstorm. Moreover, there was no immediately obvious source of illumination – no sun, no moon, and oddly enough, no shadows. Instead, the sky looked almost as if it was backlit, like it was a false cover created from a theatrical scrim.

It was, in a word, a little disturbing.

“Are you well?” the voice said, and Anathema turned to find Griane and two others waiting behind her.

“I am well, your majesty,” she said, and stopped herself just in the nick of time from thanking them for meeting her. She could suddenly see how Ezra had trouble with this. “Your instructions worked perfectly.”

Anathema sketched a small curtsy, spreading her crimson skirt around her, and then looked up to observe the beings across from her. Griane looked different than she had last time they met – her skin was now a deep ebony, and her hair was silver and plaited. But she bore herself with the same regal carriage and her melodic voice was still as commanding and enticing as a bell.

With her was another human-like creature, a woman with raven hair coiled on her neck and a sharp, angular face who looked like she might be part bird, and – Anathema stopped and outright stared. A bloody centaur. Honestly. Half man, half horse, a deep chestnut in his back half and with ruddy skin on his torso, with light leather armor across his chest and forearms and what looked like a gold torque around his neck.

“This is Michael,” Lady Griane said, indicating the sharp-faced woman, “and this is Stavixx, the captain of my guard.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anathema said, inclining her head. Both creatures returned her nod politely. Anathema could feel their eyes on her.

Griane moved forward and laid her hands on Anathema’s shoulders. Anathema was surprised but not alarmed when the queen laid a cool kiss on her forehead. It tingled in a way that almost burned, then the sensation faded. 

“This mark will protect you,” she said, “and indicate to all you meet that you are under my protection and immune to glamour and enchantment. You are welcome in my realm and may partake without fear.”

Anathema bowed her head in acknowledgment, feeling that there was a level of protocol here she wasn’t sure how to respond to correctly. “You honor me, my lady,” she said. “I am pleased to be your guest.”

The queen’s eyes travelled down to the gold oak leaf pinned to Anathema’s blouse. “Keep your talisman with you at all times,” she added, then focused on it for a moment, clearly noting that it had been enchanted against mishap. She gave Anathema a brief, approving smile but said nothing about it.

Instead she held out her hand in invitation, and after a moment of hesitation, Anathema took it. In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself, as the queen shifted her gaze and concentrated for a moment, and they were instantly transported out of the glade.

\-- 

Ezra looked through his book collection in preparation for Juliet’s visit with him. He hadn’t seen her in a week, but they’d arranged what Crowley had taken to calling a “playdate” for later that afternoon. He thought perhaps they would try reading together. Stories were powerful things; perhaps a familiar tale could bring some part of her back to herself.

He finally found what he was looking for – an old compendium of Grimm’s fairytales, published before they were tidied up for modern audiences. Most of the familiar fairy tales were originally written down for adults and were based on much older tales full of grotesquery and violence. Later, they were dialed down and cleaned up for children, and then further sweetened by the transition into cartoons and movies. In the end, the original tales were almost unrecognizable. Nonetheless, having the vague notion that Juliet’s childhood was something like two hundred years prior, Ezra thought the older versions might be most familiar to her. 

Juliet soon arrived, with Beelzebub holding onto her elbow as they carefully escorted her into the outer office.

“Here,” Beelzebub said, shoving a canvas bag into Ezra’s hands. “Her notebookzzz. I must work but I will be back before supper for her.” They paused and gave Juliet’s hand a squeeze. “Goodbye, Juliet.”

Juliet looked uncertain but waved goodbye to Beelzebub as she sidled a little closer to Ezra.

“Very well,” Ezra said, smiling to Juliet. “Shall we?” He held his hand out to her, and after a moment she took it, allowing Ezra to lead her into the apartments and from there into the library, where a nice fire was crackling and he’d laid out two cups of steaming cocoa.

Juliet sniffed appreciatively and wandered over to the table to investigate. She stuck a finger directly in one of the cups of chocolate and then snatched it back. “Hot!” she said, sucking on the fingertip in dismay. 

Ezra tutted. “Yes, yes, my dear, you don’t just stick your hand in a cup of hot liquid,” he chided, pulling her hand out and examining the fingertip. It was slightly red but looked essentially unharmed. He blew on it and Juliet giggled.

“Have you ever had hot chocolate?” he asked. She shook her head shyly.

“Sit down,” Ezra said, pointing to the couch and laying her bag down near the spot he indicated, “and I will bring it to you.”

Juliet did, watching him as he went to work stirring the cocoa to cool it and adding in some whipped cream. He noted her looking around the room as if she didn’t know what to gaze at next. The library truly was an impressive room; cozy and sprawling, with books everywhere you looked and firelight glinting off the upper level gold railing.

“Pretty, bitty, flitty” she said, nestling into a corner of the couch. Her eyes darted from surface to surface, and her hands worked their fidgeting as much as ever, but Ezra got the feeling, somehow, that she was more comfortable than she had been on their first few visits.

They drank their cocoa, which Juliet seemed to enjoy immensely, and then Ezra offered to read her a few stories. He began with The Three Spinners, a light and charming tale about a lazy young maid who is unwilling to perform her appointed duties, and is rescued by three strange creatures who do the work for her as long as she claims them as her cousins from then on. They then moved on to The Poor Miller’s Apprentice and the Cat, which featured a castle run entirely by kittens and cats, and which Juliet seemed to love. He continued to flip through the book, finding and reading her various stories and answering her questions.

After a while, Juliet pulled out one of her notebooks and began doodling as he read, and Ezra tried inconspicuously to see what she was doing. He could only make a few words out in her loopy, sprawling handwriting – he saw the word snake, and sky, and lion.

“What are you writing about?” he asked.

Juliet looked up at him, and for a moment her eyes appeared unfocused. “Things in my head,” she said vaguely. “Bed, said, thread…” She continued to stare at him oddly, and then looked back down to her notebook.

“Would you read me one?” Ezra said.

Juliet startled and stared at the pages as if she had never seen them before. “I don’t know what these are!” she said in some distress. “Where did this come from?”

She thrust the notebook at Ezra and began to prowl the room, running a finger over various book spines and humming to herself.

Ezra watched her in concern for a moment and then glanced at the notebook, trying to make sense of what he saw. She seemed to be writing a combination of disjointed phrases and things that looked like riddles, maybe. He picked out a few phrases – _golden spindle and summer hay, good queen mourns the (unintelligible)… , sky snake quibbles with death and (unintelligible)… , griffins do not smile…_

At least they weren’t rhymes, he thought.

He looked up and noted Juliet was no longer in sight. He leapt up in a panic, only to note her most of the way up the stairs to the top level. He dropped the notebook, forgotten, and followed along to keep her safe.

\--

Anathema had the sense of moving on the wind for a period. When they stopped, she opened her eyes and found herself in a large circular chamber that appeared to be a bedroom. The room was hewn from a light-colored material like marble and the walls seemed lit from behind, emitting a soft golden glow. Even stranger, there were soft green vines twined over every vertical surface, from the floor up to the arched ceiling, leaving only two doorways clear. A large white bed stood on one side, and a few pieces of furniture completed the room. It was lovely and very welcoming.

Lady Griane gestured around. “These will be your quarters while you stay with us,” she said. “I will send a servant to assist you, and I hope you will join us for a banquet after a brief rest.”

She clapped her hands just once, and then waited, one eyebrow raised in her cool, perfect face.

Very shortly, a knock at the door indicated the arrival of a small, violet-skinned creature of indeterminate gender. They had a shock of white hair and spindly, long limbs, with enormous pale eyes set wide over a small mouth. Their large, pointed ears reached out and back from their head, and a small pair of antennas sprouted from where their eyebrows should have been.

“You called, your majesty?” the creature said, bending low in a bow.

“Ah, yes,” the Queen said. “This is Anathema, our honored guest. I would like you to assist her with whatever she needs. You can begin by drawing her a bath and helping her to dress, and then bring her to the banquet in two revolutions.”

The queen bid her goodbye, and Anathema and the creature stared at each other for a moment.

“What is your name?” Anathema said politely.

The creature frowned. “I can’t tell you that,” it chided. “Tricky human.”

“No, no,” Anathema said, “I meant, what can I call you?”

“Ah,” the creature said with a grin. “Much better. Pays to be exact, here, it does. You can call me Hollin. Now, would you like me to run that bath for you?”

Anathema smiled and sat down on the bed. “In a moment,” she said. “First, why don’t we have a little chat?”

The creature looked at her warily but perched carefully on a small chair at the bedside. “What does miss wish to know?”

“Well first,” Anathema said, peering over her glasses, “How do the folks here feel about witches?”

\--

The morning court was a disorganized disaster at the Dark Keep, and Lord Crowley banished all his remaining petitioners after two mind boggling hours. He ordered his council to stay behind and herded them into a secure grotto where they could discuss in privacy.

Beelzebub, Hastur, Ligur, and the two other members of his council sat blinking in the heat of Lord Crowley’s obvious displeasure.

“What on earth is wrong with everyone this morning?” Crowley snapped. “Everyone was muttering and whispering and acting odd.” He looked around at their faces. “I know some of you have an inkling what’s going on. Speak up.”

A quiet creature with and oddly triangular head and two rows of sharpened teeth tentatively cleared its throat.

“Azriel, you know something?” Crowley said, eyes fixed on her.

“I believe there are some alarming rumors circulating, my lord,” Azriel said. “About… about witches? And prophecies?”

“You mean the bog witch’s message?” Lord Crowley frowned ferociously. “And how would that news have gotten spread?” he shouted, terrifying everyone into silence. “You three –” he pointed at Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur – “were the only ones at the meeting with the bog witch, and you two – “ he pointed at Azriel and their companion — “are the only other two who were updated. If we have a leak on my council, I will fire the lot of you and begin from scratch.”

Beelzebub spoke carefully. “Perhaps we should hear more about the substance of the rumors?” they suggested.

Azriel took a deep breath. “The people are saying a human with prophetic gifts will destroy the realm. And that…” they glanced apologetically at Lord Crowley, who made an impatient gesture to continue, “and that you are bringing someone here who meets that exact description.”

Crowley blinked. “I’m doing _what_?”

Ligur found a patch of unexpected bravery. “You’re bringing down the witch, Ezra’s friend, aren’t you?”

“My _sister_ is bringing down Anathema,” he corrected, “and she’s not a prophetess. Just a wiccan. You know – candles and chants and such. Minor warding. She’s no threat to us. Been quite helpful in fact.”

Everyone nodded.

“Nonetheless,” Ligur said, “the court is suspicious, and rumors are widespread.”

“Are we facing a rebellion?” Lord Crowley asked.

“No,” Beelzebub said, “just your standard plotting and conspiracy theories. But I think you’d be wise to put some extra protection around the witch while she’s here. Fae like to have someone to blame, and the presence of yet another human might be more than we can justify right now.”

“I did hear something about a possible attack being planned,” Azriel said. “Something about a banquet.”

_Shit,_ Crowley thought. _Of course. Anathema is in danger._

“Meeting adjourned,” he called over his shoulder, already striding out of the room. “And keep your mouths shut!”

\--

When Hollin arrived to escort her to the banquet, Anathema had soaked in a lavender bath for ages, dressed stubbornly in her own clothes rather than the diaphanous number that Hollin had laid out for her, and was as prepared as she could get for what lay ahead – seeing a lot of magical creatures, all together, all at once. She was uncomfortably aware that this was the first time in her entire life when she would be the lone human at a gathering, outnumbered and outdrawn, as it were, by the creatures around her.

Hollin looked her over with barely hidden disapproval. “You did not like the dress, madam?”

“It’s lovely,” Anathema said, “but I need to wear my own clothes tonight.”

“The Lady will not be pleased,” Hollin sighed, “but she does know how stubborn you humans can be.”

Hollin led the way through a bewildering maze of hallways that Anathema eventually gave up trying to keep track of and emerged at one end of an immense hall that looked like it was half-building, half enchanted woodlands. There were stone pillars and paving stones, but they were broken up by patches of moss and flowers and fragrant vines coiling down the walls. Lanterns shaped like seed pods hung from every conceivable surface, glowing amber. Above them, the roof was high and appeared to be gold and silver fabric, rippling in a distant breeze.

Low long tables were arranged carefully around the room, with silken pillows placed around them for seating, and near the front, up a series of steps, stood what was clearly the high table. It appeared to be carved from a living tree. Lady Griane, dressed in all white, sat behind it on a throne of branches that coiled up into an immense tree behind her.

The surroundings sorted, Anathema turned her attention to the more intimidating issue – the denizens of the Shining Court, who crowded the room. A very great number of them were looking avidly at her. Most were humanoid in form, although many sported horns or wings, and those that did not were still obviously not human, just based on their proportions or coloring or general bearing. She noted the extravagantly dressed women with windswept updos and flowing gowns that seemed to incorporate leaves and twigs in unexpected ways, and beautiful and forbidding men who were dressed in equal finery. These were clearly the Gentry, she noted – the upper crust of Fae society, dripping in jewels and beauty and strangeness.

She was just about to turn her attention to the other creatures in the room, when Hollis touched her arm to draw her attention to the approach of a woman with dark mahogany skin and golden, close-cropped hair. She had a sprinkle of gold across her cheekbones that looked to Anathema like constellations. She was stunning.

“I am Uriel,” she said, “the Queen’s herald.” She looked over Anathema mildly, curiosity in her dark eyes. “How interestingly you dress, human.” Her eyes fixed on the oak leaf sigil, and she smiled sharply, her white canines glinting in the light.

“Nice to meet you,” Anathema said, “I am Anathema.” 

She knew enough to withhold her middle and last name, not to mention her ritual name she used in her witchcraft. No one here would be privy to that information. 

“So we have been told,” the creature said, then offered her arm in a formal, courtly gesture. Anathema laid her hand on Uriel’s elbow and allowed herself to be led through the center of the room and to the patch of moss in front of the high table.

Anathema curtsied deeply, determined to cause no offense. Now was not the time for stubbornly sticking to equality and egalitarianism. When she arose, Griane was smiling at her.

Griane stood and the hall fell silent. She raised a flowered, silver rod she had been holding in her lap and spoke in a musical voice which managed to reach and fill every corner of the hall.

“Anathema the witch, you are welcome to my realm and afforded my protection until you return home. Be gladly received by my court, and may none here offer you any harm.”

A murmur ran through the court, and Anathema had the distinct sensation that something quite unusual had occurred. Uriel interrupted her thoughts by guiding her around to a seat to Griane’s left, where she found herself seated on a comfortable fluffy pillow with her legs curled to one side. Griane gestured for service and Anathema found a pale green glass of something that smelled delicious placed in her hand.

“A toast!” Griane called to the room, raising her goblet. “To magic,” she said, “in all of its forms.”

The cry moved around the room as creatures of all kinds raised their glasses back and then all drank.

Anathema took a small sip and smiled without meaning to as bubbles went up her nose and a delightful, flowery wine exploded on her taste buds.

“Good, is it not?” Griane said quietly, watching her.

Anathema smiled. “It’s delicious!”

She sat back against her seat and pinched herself just slightly beneath the table where no one could see, to be sure she was really here and this was really happening. It hurt, so she assumed the answer to both was yes. In that case, she settled in and began observing the creatures around her, with an intermingled sense of both fascination and foreboding. She was determined to catalog as much of this evening into memory as she could.

\--

Ezra was reading when Crowley stormed into the apartment. He looked up in surprise at the frenetic energy Crowley was carrying with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Pack a small bag, Ezra,” Crowley said. “We’re going to the Shining Court,”

“Is everything okay?”

“No, obviously!” Crowley literally stomped a foot on the ground. “I will explain on the way, but we have to go _now_. Get moving.” He paused and steeled himself. “Please.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow but did as he was bid.

Twenty minutes later, they were in one of the coaches, careening wildly through the sky as Crowley tried, unsuccessfully, to scrye with Griane and Ezra clutched his tunic and fretted about Anathema. He’d guaranteed her safety! Would she be all right until they arrived?

He had a moment of clarity when he realized that Crowley, his fae lover, was currently in a froth of panic and outrage over the threat of danger to _Ezra’s_ _human friend_. Danger aside, the thought made him feel warm and well-loved. Perhaps Crowley’s primary love language, he decided with a small smile, was wanting to smite someone on his behalf. He had to admit, it came in somewhat handy in their current living environment.

\--

It seemed like hardly a half hour had passed before they pulled up outside the castle in Griane’s realm – a trip that Ezra was quite sure had taken them hours the last time. Either distance was an entirely relative concept in the Fae realm or the firesteeds were capable of exceptional speeds in an emergency. He had little time to consider this more fully, though, before Crowley hopped out of the coach and gestured for him to follow.

It was clear an event was going on – the shining court’s palace aglow with lanterns and music and there were several coaches parked in the winding drive. Crowley marched them inside, and they were immediately surrounded by Griane’s surprised guards. A large centaur with a sour expression stepped forward, clearly allowing no intruders. He was, Ezra thought, quite intimidating.

“Stavixx,” Crowley said coolly. 

“State your business, Lord Crowley!” the centaur replied, hefting a sword in one hand and what looked like an axe in the other.

“I must see my sister at once,” Crowley said with a sneer, “and I do not explain myself to _guards_.”

“The Lady Griane is unavailable until the banquet has finished,” the centaur said, looking down at Lord Crowley in a dismissive fashion, “and I do not see an invitation on the list for you and your guest.”

“Listen here, you horse-brained idiot,” Crowley snarled, “my sister and her guest of honor are in danger. Serious danger. We came immediately on finding out about the threat.”

The centaur looked both enraged and concerned. Ezra had a feeling that ‘horse-brained idiot’ had not gone over well. He decided to step in and see if he could help. A quick look to Crowley resulted in a nod of permission.

“You may, of course, refuse to admit us,” Ezra said, voice terrifyingly polite. “I’m sure your queen will understand when one of the most powerful of earth’s witches is harmed because you would not pass along our message.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be you, bud,” Crowley said.

“I’m not your bud,” the centaur snarled, but he did beckon over a small, elf-like creature and speak to it for a moment. The elf looked at the two of them, nodded, and then took off at a speed so fast they could hardly track him.

The centaur levelled one of its weapons at Crowley. “Stay,” he growled. “I have sent for the queen.”

The next ten minutes were excruciating. Crowley all but vibrated himself out of existence with the speed at which he was jiggling various body parts, and Ezra quickly gave up on trying to soothe him and focused instead of calming his own breathing.

Finally, the elf reappeared, flushed and breathing hard. He skidded to a halt in front of Lord Crowley and sketched a deep bow. “The Lady Griane requests that you follow me for an immediate audience,” the creature said, and with a sigh the centaur dropped his sword and allowed them passage.

“Next time,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy Stavixx - he's my favorite new character, even if he just freaking despises Lord Crowley. :) 
> 
> I'm trying to scope out the rest of the story and my best guess is maybe 16 chapters? Possibly? Although this one was already split into two because it was so long, so who knows. We have a lot of ground to cover yet, but things are going to be pretty active from here on out. I don't think we have too many more quiet chapters of introspection left. 
> 
> Also forgot to mention last time that I retroactively changed the name of a room in all of the previous chapters in both Faeted 1 and Faeted 2 -- I had been trying to deal with the confusion of their being the "public" library room outside of Crowley's apartment where Ezra hung out when he was first visiting, and the two story library area in the apartment, and it was just too confusing. So the room outside the quarters is now called the records room. Not that any of you are mapping the keep in your head like I am, but just in case anyone noticed. 
> 
> This world (and it's 49 -- 49!!! and growing!) characters is becoming disturbingly real to me. I have a notebook with pictures of all of the characters and a lot of the rooms and wow, this is fun. :) I had no idea how much fun world building could be. 
> 
> Your comments sustain me, make me smile, make me laugh, and make me keep writing!! Thank you so much to everyone who has left a note, or a kudo, or even just a little positive mental energy.


	11. Dark Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema becomes embroiled in a plot, and Adam creates some havoc of his own and makes a few new friends.

Crowley and Ezra were hustled quickly deeper into the Queen's palace, past the audience chamber Ezra remembered, and back through a long hallway that clearly skirted the outer doors of a banqueting hall where music and laughter was echoing out. The elf brought them to a small door and ushered them through into a waiting room that appeared to be placed near the banquet hall.

“Sit, please, sirs,” the creature said politely, before stepping onto a small servant portal and disappearing.

Crowley had just begun drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair when the door opened again and Griane and Anathema stepped in.

“Ezra!” Anathema cried, and he jumped up to tackle her in an immense hug.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Ezra said. 

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Griane said coolly.

“We have information from my court that there is a faction looking to harm the human,” Crowley said. “Possibly tonight.”

Griane frowned. “Explain, please,” she said, as she and Anathema both sat.

Crowley gave a short brief on what they had learned; that someone was leaking information from one of their courts about the prophecy, how a portion of the fae had heard that a witch or prophetess was going to threaten the stability of the realm, and how those aware of Anathema’s visit had decided she might be the witch in question.

“I’m not a prophetess!” Anathema exclaimed. “I mean, I dabble in divination a little bit, but it’s mostly tarot cards. Not my specialty, really. I’m more of a green witch. Nature spells and aligning with the Earth and growing and planting, blessing the crops…”

Crowley and Griane looked at her for a long moment, absorbing.

“No,” Crowley said slowly, “I don’t believe the prophecy means you. It’s just a case of bad boundaries, in addition to bad timing, that are making it look as if you might have something to do with this.”

“If there hadn’t been a leak somewhere in your counsel, we wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Griane pointed out placidly.

“Could’ve been a leak on your side, too, sweetheart,” Crowley hissed. “I assume your inner circle knows about it as well.”

Ezra cleared his throat as mildly as he could. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “we should get back to the question of who might be wanting to harm Anathema and how to protect her.”

Anathema looked at him and mouthed “thank you” as Crowley and Griane held their mutual glares for a few more seconds, then deflated.

“None can harm her here, though,” Griane said, shaking her head. “She has my mark on her and carries my sigil.”

Crowley frowned. “That only applies to your court,” he said. “Could you possibly have been infiltrated?”

Griane sighed. “I cannot say for certain, but it seems unlikely. We do have _standards_ , you know.”

“What does the mark you put on her protect her from, exactly?” Ezra asked.

“Spells,” Griane said. “Glamours. Sorcery. General mischief. Any type of magical harm.”

Ezra thought for a moment. “But not straight up, garden variety physical harm?”

Griane stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, looking at Crowley for support and noting that he had it. “No one can ensorcel her, but someone could, say, hit her with a shovel or poke her with a knife without your mark interfering, correct?”

It was as if Griane had never considered that someone might resort to such inelegant means of harming another. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Well, perhaps, but I find it hard to believe that any fey would be so brutish in their passions as that.”

Crowley snorted. “I think we need to put a guard on her,” he said, “and right away.”

 _I’ll do it,_ Ezra almost said. _I’ll stay with her._ He stopped himself because he knew it was a ridiculous suggestion. Anathema needed guards, not just a friend. Someone who knew how to use a weapon. He knew Crowley would be angry at him for suggesting that his presence would somehow keep her safe. He filed that one under the whole “turning over a new leaf” and “being more aware of risk” and kept it to himself.

“Perhaps she should come back with us?” Ezra asked.

“Possibly, if we can do so quietly, without alerting the court,” Crowley said, considering. “But for now, let’s see if we can root out the source of the issue here.”

Anathema cleared her throat. “So, what, I’m going to be bait?”

Crowley frowned. “You’re going to be _protected_ ,” he said. “But if something is planned, we’ve got a chance to see who or what is behind it instead of moving you and waiting for them to regroup.”

“I agree,” said Griane. “We will proceed, but carefully.”

“If I may,” Ezra interjected, “perhaps we should give Anathema the chance to weigh in on whether this does or doesn’t suit her?”

Everyone halted, and all eyes turned to Anathema. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger and met each of their eyes in turn. “I’m in,” she said. “Tell me how this will work.”

\--

Adam sighed, frustrated, and closed his notebook. He didn’t want to write an essay on post-colonialism. He wanted to do magic. But he’d promised Anathema, and he was, deep down, a rather conscientious creature. Eleven-year-old him might have gone ahead and plunged recklessly into something, but he was fourteen now – almost a man. He tried to keep the urge to experiment at bay.

He had only promised not to _try_ anything, though, he realized. He hadn’t said anything about not _researching._ He pulled out his phone and looked at it consideringly.

There were lots of reasons Adam wanted to learn magic. He wanted to _know_ things, mainly, understand how things worked. He wanted to understand why he had some kind of magical power and what he was supposed to do with it. He believed in purposes, and not knowing his purpose was intensely frustrating to him. He wanted to know how to protect himself and his friends if they were in trouble. And beyond all that, Adam had a secret reason that he hadn’t shared with anyone else yet, a very deep, painful reason that he had thought about for most of his life.

He wanted to talk to his mom.

His mom, Marie, who had died having him, essentially giving her life for his.

He’d seen pictures of her his whole life and heard stories about who she was and what she was like, but it wasn’t the same, was it, as talking to her himself. You couldn’t really know someone just from _pictures._

 _How to talk to the dead,_ he typed into the search engine, and started working his way through the list of articles that came up.

\--

“You should go home,” Ezra said quietly to Anathema as Crowley and Griane continued to strategize in rapid half-speech that they couldn’t quite follow. “I told you it was safe to come here and it’s not safe at all. This is my fault.”

Anathema made a face. “It isn’t, don’t be a dolt. You didn’t know there was going to be a prophecy and a leak and that everyone was going to blame me.” She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Ezra sputtered, until he saw the look on her face. “Oh, you’re joking,” he groused. “How very amusing.”

She grinned at him.

“Let’s go back to your room,” Ezra suggested. “We can have dinner brought there, to save you being out and exposed.”

Crowley looked up, having overheard that one. “That’s a good idea but let me take care of dinner – no use opening yourself up to the kitchen staff when we don’t know who might be after you.”

“Take care of dinner how?” Ezra asked.

“I can conjure it,” Crowley said.

“You can conjure _food_?”

“Well yeah,” Crowley said, oddly embarrassed. “I mean – nothing all that fancy. Not like the meals you get from the cooks back at the Keep. But I can feed us if need be.”

“Cheeseburgers?” Anathema said. “French fries?”

“Probably not,” Crowley admitted. “We don’t really have those here so I wouldn’t know what to make them taste like. But cheese and fruit and bread, yes.”

Ezra smiled. “You are full of wonders,” he murmured, enjoying Crowley’s discomfiture at the praise and already thinking of ways to turn this new talent to his advantage. Late night snacks suddenly seemed like a lot less work, for one. 

Crowley waved a hand. “You two head back with the guards,” he said. “I’ll be along shortly. Don’t let anyone in or out who you don’t know.”

Anathema saluted. “Will do, boss.”

Ezra and Anathema, followed by two of Stavixx’s men, headed back to her quarters.

\--

Most of what Adam had found in his research could hardly even be considered witchcraft, he thought. Or at least, not dangerous witchcraft. Tarot cards were simply a form of divination, and little kids used Ouija boards without knowing the least bit about magic, with no ill effects. Candle scrying sounded not too difficult. Automatic writing seemed creepy as anything to him, but it hardly required a coven either. Perhaps he wouldn’t be breaking any promises to Anathema if he tried one of these while she was away?

First up, he decided, was a Ouija board, because he knew his mate Brian had one. Brian raised an eyebrow when he asked if he could borrow it but didn’t ask any questions and handed it over easily enough. Adam waited until his father headed out for his evening faculty meeting at St. Aloysius, and then quickly got to work. He’d read enough to know he needed to shield his efforts and set his intention firmly, and the deep breathing and meditation techniques Anathema had insisted he practice were quite helpful in doing both.

When he finally felt like he’d set the appropriate boundaries, he put both hands on the planchette, and tried to open his mind.

“Mom?” he said. “Are you out there?”

For a minute or two, nothing happened. He realized he was pressing quite hard on the planchette and lightened his grip significantly and waited. Finally, eerily, the planchette began sliding slowly towards the word “No”.

“No what?” Adam asked.

N-o-t-y-o-u-r-m-o-m, the planchette spelled.

Adam felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

“Who are you?”

A-f-r-i-e-n-d, it spelled out.

“What do you want?”

J-u-s-t-a-l-i-f-t

Adam blinked.

“A lift to where?”

b-a-c-k-t-o-e-a-r-t-h

Adam got a bad feeling about this and snatched his hands back from the planchette. Contact broken, he quickly swept the area with his nascent powers and strengthened the borders and boundaries, then packed the box away. Whatever that was, he could tell it wasn’t what he was looking for.

He sprinkled salt around his bedroom and the windows and doors of the house before he went to sleep that night and fell asleep planning his next move.

\--

Ezra and Anathema arrived at her chambers and after the guards did a quick sweep for dangers, they were admitted inside. The two guards stationed themselves outside the door, keeping them sealed inside and everyone else out.

A short while later, there was a knock and one of the guards poked his head in. “There’s a Hollin here to see you? Says she’s your maid?”

“She is,” Anathema said. “I know her.”

They patted Hollin down for weapons and then let her in.

“Such drama, my lady,” Hollin said, straightening her skirts and then dropping into a curtsy. “Would you like me to run you a bath? You must be tired.”

“That does sound nice,” Anathema admitted. “You don’t mind, do you Ezra?”

Ezra gestured to the fireplace and the comfortable chair he was sitting in. “I’d be very happy to wait here for you,” he said.

Hollin headed into the bathroom, and soon they heard the water running into the tub. A lovely scent that was something like lavender filled the room, but with a hint of something sharper and more citrus under it. It felt soothing and wonderful and both he and Anathema felt themselves relaxing while they waited for the maid to finish.

After a little more fussing around, Hollin emerged. “All is prepared for you, my lady. I laid out a clean towel for you and a robe you can wear later.” She looked around the room, not quite meeting either of their eyes as she checked to see that all her duties were done. “If you have no further need for me, I’ll retire for the evening.”

Anathema bid her goodnight, and the maid scurried off rather quickly.

“I’ll see you in about fourteen hours,” Anathema joked, heading into the bathroom. She found a candle lit and a large, foamy tub full of faintly lilac-colored water that smelled delicious, and a gorgeous white bath towel and a robe in white and silver laid out for her. She disrobed quickly and placed her outfit on one of the hooks on the wall, then eased herself into the tub with a long sigh.

\--

Adam tried the candle idea next. He sat and cleared his mind and focused on the candle flame and asked it questions and tried to interpret how it was moving in response – left for yes, right for no. But as far as he was able to tell, nothing was really happening. The movements seemed completely random and, to be honest, his attention wandered too badly for any real conclusions.

Automatic writing yielded no further results. He held a pencil and tried to focus, but all he did was doodle a bunch of circles on the page without feeling as if anything otherworldly was happening.

Clearly, he thought, he needed more training in all the areas Anathema was always telling him he was deficient in.

It was time to call in a professional.

It turned out, Adam found, that you could arrange to attend a séance rather easily by looking online. There were several mediums available, but he found himself drawn to one named Marjorie Potts. He called her and set up an appointment for the following afternoon.

He knocked nervously at the door of a strange looking home in the village five minutes before his appointment, and was taken somewhat aback when it was opened by one of the most colorful people he had ever seen. She wore a flowing robe that seemed to contain every color in the world, and her riotous curls were held back by a fringed scarf that still let various orange tendrils escape.

“Ah, you must be Adam, then?” she asked, in a voice rather more like your grandmother’s than what he had imagined a medium would sound like. She smiled at him in a kindly way, and he noticed her bright pink lipstick was smudged on one of her front teeth.

“I am. Are you Mrs. Potts?” he said politely, trying to call on all of the maturity at his disposal.

“Yes, yes I am, please come in,” she said, ushering him inside and up the narrow staircase to a small room that smelled, oddly enough, of brussel sprouts. She sat him down at a table where there were two other people nervously waiting – they seemed to be a mother and daughter, both rather plain. Introductions were made and tea shared, and then Marjorie Potts sat down to begin.

“Please hold hands with your neighbor,” she said, “and keep absolutely silent.”

They all did as they were bid.

“Now close your eyes and concentrate on your loved ones,” she said, “and I will attempt to make contact. You two are wanting to speak to your father, James, correct?” The other two nodded. “And you’re wanting your mother?” She asked Adam. He nodded too. “Very good then, let’s begin.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, then Mrs. Potts began to twitch slightly, and her eyes began to roll in her head. Adam knew because he had opened his eyes almost immediately to watch. He squeezed the hand of his neighbor, who did the same. Soon all three of them were watching because Mrs. Potts began making the strangest series of sounds – barks and howls, gibbering laughter, and something that sounded almost like someone singing scales. 

And then, startlingly quick, her head snapped up to center and her eyes opened and focused on Adam.

“What is your question for me?” Marjorie Pott’s body asked, but it was no longer her voice or facial expressions. Instead, Adam noted that the voice was much softer and the accent more refined, and the expression on the face was fond and distant. Her eyes looked around the table at each of them. 

Adam found his spine tingling. Was that his mother’s voice? He couldn’t believe he could be hearing it after all this time.

“Mom?” he said, his voice quavering.

The medium’s head turned towards him and her face lit up with a pleasant smile. “Was that you, dearie? Oh now, what a fine boy we have here. Who are you, duckie?” she asked.

“Are you Marie Young?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” she said, peering at him. “Who’s asking?”

“Marie Anthony Young?” he said.

“Yes, indeed,” the voice chirped.

“I’m your son!” he said.

“Mmm, I’m afraid not,” the woman said gently. “I only had one son and he’s right here with me. Would you like to say hello? Looks like you’re about the same age, actually. You could be friends!” she turned her head and looked over one shoulder. “Ryan! Ryan!”

“No,” he insisted. “I need the Marie Anthony Young who was married to my father, Arthur Young. Who died in Boston fourteen years ago while my father was doing a graduate program?”

“That’s me,” the voice said.

“But…” Adam blinked back frustrated tears. “That can’t be right. You’re my mother. You died having me.”

“Ah here he is,” chirped the voice. “My Ryan. Say hello, Ryan.”

The medium’s face underwent a startling transformation like clay being reformed, and the happy, perky smile that had been present was completely replaced by the somewhat surly pout of a teenager. “Yo,” a much lower voice said. “Who’s this?”

“Adam,” Adam said. “Who are you?”

“Ryan Young,” the voice said, sounding bored and somehow pissed off. “Or so I’m told. Never knew life as Ryan Young, though, so I don’t know. Only got like three breaths on Earth and then it was over. Total bollocks.”

Adam put his head in his hands. What on earth was happening?

He had one more idea. But he had no idea how he was going to pull it off.

\--

Crowley arrived while Anathema was still in the bath, bearing a tray of simple provisions – black grapes, firm cheeses, a loaf of bread, and something that looked a bit like olives but which Aziraphale knew from experience tasted all together different from that. He set the tray down on the table by the fireplace and took a quick look around.

“Where’s witch girl?” he asked.

“Having a bath,” Ezra answered, pulling the glass cloche off a plate of cheeses and investigating each in turn with pleased little noises. Crowley smiled despite himself, watching him. 

“Been in there a while, no?” Crowley asked.

Ezra thought for a moment. “Not really,” he said. “Why?”

Crowley scented the air in a movement that looked almost entirely serpentine, and Ezra found himself fascinated by the gesture.

“Has anyone been in?” Crowley said. “Something doesn’t smell right.”

Ezra caught a hint of anxiety. “Just Hollin, to draw the bath.”

“Who’s Hollin?” Crowley asked suspiciously. “I don’t know a Hollin.”

“New maid?” Ezra said. “Vaguely purple?”

Crowley frowned and strode over to the bathroom door. He knocked and then barged right in. Ezra was relieved to hear Anathema shouting in protest – nothing had apparently happened to her, then – and decided he’d better follow.

“Sorry, my dear, sorry, sorry,” Ezra said, coming in and averting his eyes. Anathema’s tub was quite deep, and the bubbles hid everything except her head and the long dark hair piled on top of her head.

“What are you two doing in here?” Anathema shouted. “Ezra, pass me the robe!”

Crowley continued to ignore her, sniffing around the room, and Ezra shook his head and reached out for the silver and white robe that Hollin had left just out of Anathema's reach. He picked it up and turned to pass it to Anathema when suddenly Crowley lunged at him and slapped hard at his hand, knocking the robe to the floor.

“Crowley!” Ezra shouted. “What on earth –”

He realized his hand was tingling.

“’s poisoned, Ezra,” Crowley hissed, pushing him back and away from the pile on the floor. “Look at it.”

The robe had made contact with a small puddle of water on the floor when it fell, and the parts of it which were wet were spluttering and releasing steam. Crowley reached out and scooped a handful of water out of the foot of the tub, far away from Anathema and threw it onto the pile of fabric and the whole thing dissolved in some sort of acidic cloud that made everyone cough. It was pungent and eye watering and everywhere it touched it seemed to burn.

Crowley quickly banished the smoke and fumes far away from them, and then materialized a blanket to wrap Anathema in. He spent a moment banging both the humans on the back as they coughed and then shepherded them both out of the bathroom and into the seats by the fire.

“What – what the hell just happened?” Anathema said, still struggling not to cough.

“Poison,” Crowley said. “Not the magical kind, just straight up poison. If you’d wrapped that robe around yourself when you were damp from the tub, it would have killed you very quickly.”

“What kind of poison?” Ezra asked.

“Something akin to what you would call acid? But inert until it’s activated by water. Burns through you.” He grabbed Ezra's hand and examined it, then released it, apparently satisfied that he hadn't been damaged. 

Anathema shuddered. “But Hollin laid that out for me… and the towel too…” She paused and looked around. “She made the bed, too. Goddess, I shouldn’t touch anything in here!”

Crowley frowned and stood up. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and stormed to the door. “Have the maid named Hollin captured and brought to these quarters immediately,” he told one of the guards. “And find a messenger on your way and tell him to go find the queen.” He turned to the other guard. “And you, stay. Didn’t I tell you not to let anyone in?”

Both guards looked shamefaced. The first scurried off to follow orders.

Neither expected, at this point, that they would survive to see the morning.

\--

Fine, Adam thought. Enough with dealing with spirits and emissaries and human go-betweens. He needed a reliable source. He needed to talk to Death itself. The Grim Reaper. The angel of mercy. He had no idea how to bring such a thing about, but being a creative thinker, he decided that the best place to start was probably the local cemetery.

A short bike ride took him to the middle of the local churchyard, where a variety of old and new stones marked the resting places of various familys’ loved ones. The sun had just recently gone down, and a motion light on the stone church gave just enough illumination for him to see where he was going as he made his way back to a crypt he and his friends used to dare each other to visit. It was immense and gothic looking, with a small steepled top and a relief carved on the front that showed the figure of the Grim Reaper, a skull-head looking out of a dark shrouded gown and a scythe in his right hand.

Adam was frustrated and not thinking very deeply at this point, and so he instead went with instinct. He believed he was capable of contacting Death himself, and so he somehow dipped into the reservoir of power he knew he carried inside himself and, simply, did so.

He raised both hands towards the sky and turned in a circle, holding his nascent powers tight.

“I need to speak to Death!” Adam called, aware he was being reckless and not caring in the least. He felt a thrum of sure, clear power in him, rising towards the sky in a way that was almost visible to him. It felt like a beam of light emitting from his fingertips.

There was no answer.

Adam stomped his foot on the ground and looked around the cemetery. He walked closer to the carving and traced a hand over the skull and its maw, focusing all his intensity on it. 

“I said I need to speak to Death!” he shouted, eyes closed, casting deep into himself for the power he knew he possessed, and sending it out into the world in a poorly-defined blast. “I will not stop!”

A rumble shook the ground. 

I AM HERE, a voice said. I’M ALWAYS HERE. YOU HARDLY NEED TO BREAK THE BARRIERS BETWEEN WORLDS TO FIND ME, CHILD.

Adam opened his eyes and took in the scene. A figure of foreboding stood before him, and he intuitively knew it was Death, despite the fact that it looked nothing like the carving. Instead of a long, black robe and sickle, the figure was instead wearing what could only be called biker clothing – a dark leather jacket, gloves that came up over the arms of its sleeves, and worn, dark jeans with scuffed black boots. A closer examination showed a faint twinkle to the jacket, as if it were marked with a smattering of stars that you could only see by not looking at them directly. Oddest of all, it was wearing a motorcycle helmet that completely occluded any chance to determine if there was a skull or a face behind it. Adam saw his own face reflected in the windscreen.

“Thank you for coming,” Adam said breathlessly, suddenly afraid and trying not to show it.

DO NOT LET IT GO TO YOUR HEAD. YOUR TRUE TALENT IS IN IRRITATING ME ENOUGH TO MAKE ME SHOW MYSELF, YOU IGNORANT BOY, the voice continued.

“S-s-sorry, sir” Adam said. “I didn’t know where else to turn.”

The figure stared at him for some time before it spoke again. WHAT IS IT THAT YOU SEEK?

“I need to talk to my mother,” Adam said, all in a rush, before he could stop himself. “She died when I was born. I never got to meet her.”

THIS IS HIGHLY IRREGULAR, Death said. I AM NOT IN THE HABIT OF ACTING AS A COURIER AND BRINGING MESSAGES BACK AND FORTH ACROSS THE SHROUD.

Adam sighed. “I know, but it’s kind of important.”

WILL YOU CONTINUE TO BOTHER ME UNTIL I DO WHAT YOU ASK? Death said, its voice a warning.

Adam looked at his shoes, miserably. “Probably,” he confirmed.

VERY WELL THEN. WHAT IS YOUR MOTHER’S NAME?

“Marie Anthony Young.”

WAIT HERE.

\--

Hollin was found in relatively short order; whatever magic she possessed was not enough to hide her from the Lady or resist the magical summons she had sent to retrieve her. She appeared shortly in the middle of Anathema’s quarters, her arms bound behind her at the elbow with a circlet of glowing light.

Crowley took a backseat and let his sister handle the interrogation. It was, after all, her court.

“Why?” Lady Griane demanded, towering over her captive. “Why would you do this?”

“Because humans don’t belong here!” Hollin snarled, struggling against her bonds, her face going almost feral. “Bad enough that your brother has practically married one but now he’s bringing all of their friends down to visit? And a _witch?_ ” She glared at Anathema. “Your powers are an insult; you have no real magic. No wonder the borders between the worlds are closing.”

Griane struck her across the cheek, savagely. “You do not get to offer an opinion on the worth or value of my guests, girl.”

Hollin smirked. “I am far from the only one, your _majesty_ ,” she said. “There are many who are not happy. We left Éire to get away from them, once upon a time, did we not? And now we are to just welcome them into our homes? Intermarry? Mingle our bloodlines?”

Ezra coughed discreetly. He certainly wasn’t about to bear Crowley any young, if that was what was being implied. Crowley gave him a look and he took the hint and stayed out of it.

“You are a disgrace to your clan and your kingdom,” Lady Griane said, and then turned to the guards. “Take her to Stavixx and find out who she’s working with. Let me know when she’s broken her silence.”

“We will close the ways!” Hollin shouted as they dragged her away. “We will close them if you will not!”

\--

Adam fidgeted, doing his best not to look around the cemetery. It had gotten darker since he started. He clutched the small knife he’d brought with him more tightly in his hand and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Around him, cicadas woke up from their afternoon naps and began their absurd chirping. Wind rustled in the trees. A twig behind him broke and he jumped nearly out of skin, only to turn around and find a fat, brown rabbit staring at him suspiciously.

“What?” he said to the rabbit. “Shoo!”

It wrinkled its nose and hopped away, unimpressed.

I HAVE RETURNED, a voice boomed behind him. Adam leapt at least a foot in the air before spinning around, and just gave up on even attempting to hide it.

“And my mother?” he asked.

YOU MOTHER IS NOT IN MY REALM, Death said.

“She is, I spoke to her earlier in a séance!” Adam insisted. “She – she said she didn’t know me, that she wasn’t my mother. She said she only had one son and he was with her.”

SHE SPOKE THE TRUTH, Death said dispassionately. I COLLECTED MARIE ANTHONY YOUNG AND HER INFANT SON AT 12:08 A.M. ON AUGUST 31ST, TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT.

Adam stared, uncomprehending. “No, you couldn’t have. That’s me, I’m that baby. She was my mother. I survived, she didn’t.” He felt tears coming to his eyes. “Why is everyone lying to me?”

I CANNOT HELP YOU. WHOEVER YOUR MOTHER IS, SHE IS NOT HERE.

“Then – then where is she?” he whimpered.

Death looked almost like it hesitated for a moment, as if it wanted to say something kind or reach out a skeletal hand in comfort, but at the last moment it stopped itself and stepped back.

I CANNOT HELP YOU, the voice said again, and the figure began to fade.

DO NOT SUMMON ME AGAIN, the voice added.

And then there was silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are heading into the final handful of chapters here -- how many? I'm not sure. 4? 6? -- and as a result I'm going to stop pretending I will continue to post twice a week because I need to think these through very carefully. :) I will shoot for Sunday updates! 
> 
> How are you all doing? Are you enjoying the twists and turns of this? I am so grateful that you all stop by and read this every week! Thank you so very much...


	12. A Narrow Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Ezra work hard to extract Anathema from danger, using any means at their disposal.

Something was wrong with Beelzebub. Juliet wasn’t sure of too many things, but she was sure of this one: Lord Bee was distracted and upset and not at all right.

Juliet tried to watch them to figure out the source of the problem, but it was frustrating to try to do so when her mind was so prone to wandering. She tried to keep it on track by writing things down. WATCH, she wrote on the back of one hand, to remind herself. It worked, sometimes, and other times she forgot what it meant and watched the word WATCH instead. That was boring.

When they weren’t at court, Lord Bee spent large parts of their day working in their study. Juliet was welcome there; it was a large and comfortable room with a fireplace always lit and a couch in the corner where she could daydream. She wandered into it that morning to see what was going on, and found Beelzebub where they preferred to be, lounging sideways in an immense red velvet chair that was pulled up behind a shiny black desk. Juliet could almost see her face in it as she walked around to greet them.

 _Lacquer, it was called lacquer,_ she thought, not knowing where the word came from. She carefully wrote that down in the notebook she carried with her everywhere now. She had a long list of words she had remembered in there, although most were without context.

“Hello, Juliet,” Beelzebub said, looking distracted. They were poring through what looked like a series of maps. “What are you doing?”

Juliet made one little twirl, just because, and leaned down to rest her chin on Bee’s head. “Nothing.” She leaned over to look at the map in front of her lord. “What place is this?”

“It’zz Earth,” Bee said. “Or it wazz, a hundred years ago.”

“I’m from Earth!” Juliet announced, triumphantly. She had understood something.

Beelzebub’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, you are,” they said patiently. They leaned down and touched a small spot amid a sea of blue pigment. “Right about here.”

Juliet leaned in. “But it’s so small,” she said, sounding shocked. “I wouldn’t fit there.”

“No,” Beelzebub laughed. “It’s much larger than it looks. It’s called England.”

“En-gland,” Juliet repeated, the sounds rolling oddly off her tongue. “I’m from En-gland.”

Beelzebub rolled up the map. “What brings you here, my dear?” they asked.

“Just looking for you,” Juliet replied. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

Juliet blinked. Her mind had shifted again. Where was she? What had she been doing? It wasn’t entirely clear to her.

“What did you want to ask me?” Beelzebub prodded.

“Oh! Just whether you are well,” Juliet said.

Beelzebub looked surprised. “Of course I’m well!” they said. “Have you been worrying?”

“Worry, hurry, flurry…” Juliet said distantly, drifting around the desk and over to the couch, where she sat herself down primly and arranged her skirts to her liking. She vaguely remembered being taught, once upon a time, how a proper lady should sit. Perhaps in another lifetime. She pulled out her notebook and flipped through the pages, aware that Bee was watching her, until finally she looked up and smiled at them. Bee smiled back, but in a worried way, and went back to their maps.

\--

Crowley paced Anathema’s quarters restlessly while they waited to hear something more. In the interim, the three of them debated what to do next. It was a good distraction from being essentially helpless.

“Well one thing is certain,” Anathema said, “and that’s that we can’t afford to bring Adam down here. It’s just not safe enough for a child.”

“Even a powerful one,” Ezra agreed. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right. Whoever these people are, we don’t know how far their reach extends, and adding another human to the mix right now isn’t going to help the situation.”

Crowley continued to pace, his brow furrowed. He stopped now and then, picking up some kind of knick-knack and pretending to examine it, then putting it back down.

“What I want to know is how many of these conspirators there are,” he muttered, “and how long this has been going on.” He looked at the other two. “What if they’re targeting you, Ezra? It would make a lot of sense.”

“I feel perfectly safe in your court,” Ezra said. “They seem to have accepted me quite well.”

“For now,” Crowley said. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”

Ezra walked over and pulled him into an embrace. “We will figure it out.”

Crowley allowed himself to be hugged, rather stiffly, for a moment, then pulled back. “I think we should take you back to the Dark Keep with us,” he said to Anathema, “but secretly. Perhaps we can make everyone think you’ve gone back to Earth but smuggle you back home with us for a few more days.”

“How would you smuggle me?” she asked wryly. “I’m bigger than a breadbasket.”

“Well,” Crowley said. “I have an idea that you’re both probably not going to like too much.”

\--

“A bottle?” Ezra exclaimed. “Really?”

“It’s the perfect plan,” Crowley argued. “They’re multidimensional and unbreakable and can hold any size creature without mass or weight.”

“What exactly is this bottle thing?” Anathema said.

“It’s –” Ezra tried to choose his words carefully. “It’s rather like a form of imprisonment used here. Someone betrays the court, you pop them in a bottle for a decade or two or thirty. I suppose it’s like… being in stasis?”

Anathema blinked. “No offense, you majesty,” she said sarcastically, turning to glare impressively at Crowley, “because I do trust you, but to be honest I am still just getting to know you, and allowing you to imprison me in a bottle that I might never get out of is kind of a lot to ask at this stage in our relationship.”

Crowley growled at her. “Would you rather be dissolved in acid, or hit with a poison dart, or suffocated by a kilometer of topsoil? All perfectly non-magical deaths that Griane’s lovely kiss-mark and oakleaf won’t protect you from.”

Anathema paled.

Ezra whirled on Crowley angrily. “My dear, there’s really no cause to terrify her with these scenarios!” he chided.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, running a hand over his face. “But I’m being _practical_ here. We could use the tor to stage your ‘return to Earth’ and at the moment of what would have been your translation from one plane to another, I can pop you in the bottle without anyone having any idea. We put it in my bag and carry you into the Dark Keep, then let you out as soon as we’re in the royal apartments. It’s brilliant! No one will know.”

Ezra thought about it for a minute. “Why not just go home for real?”

Crowley frowned. “She really can’t until we have this sorted out. The people behind this can follow her back. We need to find out who’s behind this and at least gather up the leaders, disrupt the group.”

Anathema sighed. “My life used to be quite simple, you know.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, I’m sure it was, witch girl.”

\--

The maid Hollin was no match for her interrogators and quickly spilled what she knew, which thankfully was a fair amount. It appeared that a group of mid-level courtiers, both Seelie and Unseelie, had recently formed a faction based on the idea of keeping human influence over fae lives to a minimum.

This was more typically an unseelie, rather than a Seelie, sentiment – the Seelie had historically tended to be mostly favorable to humans, while unseelie tended to try to impede them as often as they could. However, portions of both courts appeared to be united in their current dislike of human influence.

It was something that none of the Fae liked to face – the fact that they actually _needed_ the human world. They always had. Humans had things that the fae did not and had quite often been of significant help to the fae kingdoms. Human women were sometimes called upon to act as wet nurses or midwives to fae infants, their musicians were called upon to bring new ideas and tunes to the fae courts, and they had a general level of ingenuity that the fae courts sometimes lacked.

Crowley had thought about this long and hard in times past and had concluded that it was mortality which made all the difference. Finding oneself to be mortal seemed to inspire greater acts of invention, intrigue, and even sacrifice than the immortal fae tended to produce. There was an urgency to their lives that the fae were entirely lacking, and the fae often found inspiration in that. They were all aware of it, on some level, and many of them were slightly envious of the humans for it.

Powers, he sometimes thought, were wasted on many of the fae. Not on him, mind you, because he – he had imagination, and knew how to make use of his gifts. But he had met many humans throughout the years who he thought would do more with some of the gifts he’d seen his people squander.

\--

With Griane’s assistance, they followed through as publicly and visibly as possible on their plans to act as if they were sending Anathema home. The Queen held a formal goodbye ceremony for her, thanking her for her visit to their court, and she sent both guards and witnesses to the tor to help as Lord Crowley and Ezra saw her off to return home.

Hopefully, they thought, that would get the word spread that the human threat was gone for the moment.

Anathema took one last look around at the edge of the fey forest before turning to Ezra.

“You sure this is where you want to live?” she said as Ezra enveloped her in a hug.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” he said with a smile. “But you’re doing the right thing. I want you safe.”

She held him by the upper arms and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “If I come out of that bottle and find that two hundred years have passed, I am going to hold you personally responsible and it will not be pleasant. Understood?”

Ezra nodded. “Don’t worry. It will be a few hours at most. We just have to ride home from here after.”

She nodded and then headed to the base of the hill, where Crowley was waiting for her.

“Lord Crowley,” she said, aware they were being observed. “I am ready to return to Earth.”

Crowley walked with her to the top of the hill, where he made a few gestures and muttered an incantation designed to ease her passage between the realms. Then, with a nod to Anathema, he indicated it was time for her to spiral down the hill as she had been taught.

Anathema took one last look at Ezra, raising her eyebrows meaningfully in what he knew was a threat, then waved to him. She started walking down the hill in a slow dignified pace. The path, marked much more clearly in this realm with a series of glowing white stones, wound three times around the hill in a counterclockwise direction, or what the fae called widdershins, and Anathema knew enough to know that each step was a part of a ritual that would translate her from one place to another. She could feel the magic and the pull of the ground beneath her feet, ancient and sacred, straddling two worlds in a way that was mysterious to both the humans and the fae. She made her last and final turn and headed towards the end of the path, where, normally, she would blink out of existence in this realm and return to home.

Ezra felt his chest clench, watching. What if something went wrong? What if Crowley didn’t get the timing right and it was obvious that she didn’t, in fact, return home? What if she couldn’t just be popped in a bottle like your average fae creature? Had anyone ever even tried it on a human before? He started to fidget, picking at the buttons of his waistcoat compulsively, watching as time seemed to slow down as she took her last steps.

The moment her pointy-toed black boot hit the end of the path, there was a faint shimmer and Anathema disappeared from sight.

Ezra looked around quickly to see if any of the observers were suspicious. Uriel, the queen’s representative, seemed blasé and satisfied. She clapped her hands together briskly and gathered her followers around her to return to court. The representatives of the queen’s guard relaxed, letting their defenses down now that the target they were charged to protect was no longer in front of them. All in all, everyone seemed satisfied and went about their business none the wiser.

Crowley banished whatever magic he’d set in place and walked straight down the hill to Ezra. He slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in for a sideways hug.

“Did you get her through safely?” Ezra said, making his words as oblique as possible.

“Yes, I believe she got where she intended to go,” Crowley said. “Come, let’s get back to the Dark Keep.”

\--

“Thank someone,” Crowley said, hours later, as they reached their own chambers. He strode into Ezra’s room and looked around. “Anathema can have this room while she’s here, right? It will keep her the most out of sight.”

Ezra nodded. “Of course,” he said. “And we can lock down a few of the servant portals to keep them out of this section.”

“Good idea.” Crowley opened his cloak and reached inside the leather pouch he wore slung beneath it. He dug around for a minute before pulling out a small, round, stoppered bottle that was swirling with mists.

“Is she all right?” Ezra asked nervously.

“Of course she’s all right! It’s only been two or three hours. I’ve had creatures spend centuries in one of these and come out perfectly fine.”

Ezra looked unconvinced. “So, do you just, what, uncork it and out she pops?”

“Pretty much,” Crowley gestured. “Stand back.”

Ezra complied. He watched as Crowley set the bottle on the floor a few steps in front of him, then backed up and muttered a few words, accompanied by a frission of power that even he could feel. There was a strange sucking noise, and suddenly the bottle was gone, and Anathema stood in front of them, looking disheveled but essentially unharmed.

She stuck her hands on her hips and glared at the both of them.

“That was extremely unpleasant!” she shouted. “We are never, ever doing that again, do you understand me?”

Crowley sighed but nodded seriously. “Very well, witch girl. We will not save you from almost sudden death ever again. Is that better?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll have you know that it is very, very smoky in there! And cramped. And… quite boring. And I could feel every step your horse took for the whole entire journey.” 

“You weren’t asleep?” Crowley asked.

“I was not.”

He looked impressed. “Must be your powers? Or my sister’s amulet.”

“Anyhow,” Ezra said, “that’s over, and the whole court saw you leave for Earth, and no one knows you’re here. So that’s good, right?”

Anathema nodded reluctantly. “Yes, that’s good.”

“And Crowley is about to go get this whole conspiracy sorted out,” he added, “and then you can go home for real.”

“Yes, yes,” she said crossly. “Got any wine?”

Crowley grinned at her. “That’s more like it. And you’re right, I do need to go get to work.” He leaned in and kissed Ezra goodbye. “See you both later. The servant portals are locked, so no one will disturb you as long as you stay in the apartments.”

With a swirl of his cloak, he was gone.

\--

Crowley quickly gathered a few of his counsellors together for an urgent meeting. He kept it small, just Lord Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur, not sure if he could really trust any of the others.

“What did you find out?” Ligur asked.

“Azrael’s rumor was well founded,” Crowley said grimly. “We barely prevented an assassination attempt on the human witch. We were lucky; we caught the perpetrator and have gotten a list of names from them of some of the entities involved.”

Beelzebub, who appeared to be somewhat distracted, looked up. “Who are they?”

“It crosses both courts,” Crowley said, sniffing in distaste. “About a dozen of them, mid-level courtiers mostly, with unreasonable ideas of their own importance. We’re going to have to act decisively to get this under control.”

“But how are they messing with the portals?” Hastur said. “That would take so much power!” 

“The zealots have been building a complicated spellwork in a cavern hidden at the borders of Seelie and Unseelie territory,” Crowley reported. “They’ve been adding power over time to a very deep magical working designed to close off the borders between our worlds.”

“They can’t close everything off, can they?” Ligur asked.

“No, not every access point. Not the original connection points -- the tors and the rock formations and the ocean riptides that formed when the Earth was created,” Crowley said. “But they can close the portals we’ve added and maintained over the millennia – the barrows, the old hillforts, the sacred groves. The magic behind them is old and complex but they’ve managed to weaken them considerably already.”

“Since when,” Beelzebub hissed, sounding disgusted, “do Seelie and Unseelie cooperate in sabotage? At least when the Shining Court idiots are ridiculous do-gooderzzz you know what to expect. Now they’re almost just like uzzz.”

“Fair point,” Crowley said. “Fact of the matter is, I sometimes suspect the Seelie and Unseelie courts are going to _have_ to cooperate more and more to survive.”

His council looked at him blankly. It was not a popular viewpoint.

“Or,” he added carefully, “we could take them over and rule the whole place.”

This was met with much murmuring of agreement.

“Either way,” Crowley said, “we’ve got to work with their side for the moment to deal with this portal problem, unless any of you want to be permanently locked in our realm for the rest of eternity.”

He looked around. No one looked especially pleased at the prospect of no further raids and free nights up on Earth.

“All right then,” he said, “here’s what we’re going to do.”

\--

“Zealots,” Crowley said as he and Ezra relaxed in the study later that evening. “Why do we seem to be surrounded with them lately? Fucking hate them, zealots.”

Ezra murmured sympathetically while rubbing Crowley’s tense shoulders through the black silk of his shirt. Crowley murmured appreciatively and leaned back in his seat.

“I mean, it’s not enough that we’re already magical creatures, living in an alternate dimension where we can do almost anything we bloody well want?” Crowley continued grumpily. “Can’t just leave well enough alone and, oh, I don’t know, go on with your nearly immortal life and use your powers to amuse yourself?”

“You have a point,” Ezra agreed, leaning forward to pepper a few kisses around Crowley’s hairline.

“But no,” Crowley snarked, ignoring his attempts to distract and comfort him. “Folks have to go get up in arms about humans or witches or prophecies or what have you and go forming _factions_ and hatching _plots_ and coming up with ways to make my life difficult.”

“It’s like they do it just to vex you,” Ezra said placidly, sliding a hand down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and leaned back to look up at Ezra. “I get the distinct feeling your mind is not on my problems, human,” he said. His tone was sharp, but his eyes were glinting with humor.

“Oh, no, not at all, I am,” Ezra said quite seriously. “I’m just thinking perhaps a little, err, stress relief might be fun? I mean helpful. Helpful and fun, perhaps?”

Crowley grabbed him by the shirt front. “Good idea, angel,” he murmured, and then did his best to pull Ezra down over the back of the couch and into his lap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! i hope anathema's bottle adventures made you laugh. 
> 
> So a couple of things - 
> 
> One, did I mention that this has somehow become a trilogy? I have part 3 of faeted fermenting in the back of my mind. So stay tuned, kids, we have more story ahead of us. Not to mention that this one isn't completed yet. 
> 
> Two, in the nature of trilogies, there may not be a 100% perfectly happy ending to this particular installment. Episode two is always a bit of a downturn, right? The Empire Strikes Back certainly ended grimly, but everything ends up okay, right? Not that the empire is going to swoop in and kill everyone. That would be quite a turn for this story to suddenly have stormtroopers show up. I promise that is *not* going to happen.
> 
> Three - I love your comments so, so much, and your kudos, and just seeing that people have stopped by to read! Rest assured that I'm hard at work trying to draw this to a conclusion. I don't know how long this will take me - probably four more chapters? But I say that every time. :) I hope to have it done sometime in October! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


	13. The Past Is Never Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out how Beez and Juliet met, and learn a deep, dark secret.

Adam left his father’s office at St. Aloysius frustrated and confused, having achieved nothing other than convincing his father that he was having some kind of mental breakdown.

“What do you mean, are you adopted?” Mr. Young exclaimed. “I was there! I was there when your mother –”

His voice broke and he took a moment to collect himself.

“—when your mother delivered you. I was right outside the room. She delivered you, and everything was good, and then she, she died. But you didn’t.” He cleared his throat again. “I left the hospital with you the next day.”

Adam shoved down the terrible guilt he felt to be putting his father through these questions. “So, you were with me the whole time? After I was born?”

“Well no, of course, they took you away to the nursery and to be weighed and washed and, as it turns out, fed,” Mr. Young said. “You know, as they do with all the babies.”

“And where was I born?” Adam asked.

“Oh, this was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, of course,” Mr. Young said. “I was getting my PhD at Harvard, so we lived in the states for a few years. That’s why you have dual citizenship, if you ever choose to activate it. You were technically born in the United States.”

Adam pondered that one for a moment. He’d never _felt_ American, but he could see how the option could be attractive at some point. Lots of adventures to be had in America.

“So – as far as you know, I was born perfectly healthy and nothing strange happened? Other than, you know, Mom?” Adam winced. That hadn’t come out quite right.

Mr. Young sighed and looked confused. “Well there was a brief power outage, right after you were born. Just for a moment – less than a minute. No one could see anything for perhaps thirty seconds?”

“Ah HA!” Adam exclaimed.

“Seriously, Adam,” Mr. Young said, squinting at him in concern. “What’s gotten into you? This is all quite unlike you. Have you been experimenting with anything?”

“Dad…” Adam huffed. “Come on.”

“Well really, Adam,” Mr. Young protested. “I’m no stranger to boys your age and the things they get up to. Trying out alcohol, and mind-altering drugs. I’ll have you know that you can talk to me about –”

“DAD!” Adam broke in. “I’m not on drugs. I’m not on anything. I just was thinking about things, that’s all!” He stood up and made for the door. “Never mind, just, you know, overactive imagination. Isn’t that what you’re always calling it?”

He was out the door before his father could answer.

That, he thought, was mostly a disaster. But the power outage during his birth was an interesting piece of info. Something could have happened there without many people noticing. Something, he thought, but what?

\--

Griane contacted Crowley that evening to talk over their ongoing strategy.

“We’ve rounded up most of the Fae that Hollin named,” she reported. “There are seven in all. They’re being held here, and we will initiate court proceedings for them shortly.”

She gave him the names – he was vastly relieved that none of his direct counsellors were on the list. He was annoyed to find one of the lords of his treasury, a Count Vizroth of the exchequer, on the list. He made a mental note to examine the states of the court finances as soon as possible. In addition, a minorly important clan leader of the lizard folk was on the list, and one of female lamia. To be honest, that last one was no surprise – they did not take well to either humans or the reigns of kings and queens. All in all, he thought, it could have been worse. Much, much worse. 

“My exchequer,” he groaned. “Damn it all. Now I have to go see how much of my gold is missing.”

Griane made a sympathetic noise. “You will, of course, need to be part of the court proceedings.”

“Yes, of course,” Crowley said, wincing internally. More court, more judgments to pronounce. He could hardly wait. On the other hand, he had few compunctions about consigning a few zealots trying to destabilize the worlds to the fire pit. “But did we get them all? All of the leadership?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Griane said. “I suspect there might be more who we don’t know about. We will need to continue to be vigilant.”

Indeed. Crowley had a bad feeling about this whole thing. It couldn’t be this simple.

“In the meantime,” she continued, “we need to prepare an expedition to the site of this working, to see if and how we can dissemble it.”

“It’s likely to be protected,” Crowley pointed out. “No one is going to leave something that important and long range just sitting there waiting for some idiot to move a stone or erase a rune. There will be traps.”

“Yes of course there will be,” Griane said, impatiently. “That’s why we’re going to have to work together. I’m going to send a team out for an initial survey with strict instructions not to actually touch it but just to see what we are dealing with. Can you lend a body or two to the effort?”

“I can,” Crowley said, thinking hard. Soldiers would be most appropriate for this. “When are they leaving?”

“Tomorrow, at the stroke of midday,” Griane said. “Stavixx is leading. Have your people at the standing stones outside of the bog territory by then.”

“Will do,” Crowley said, ending the call.

He wasn’t sure which of the many things he was worried about to actually stop and worry about next. There were simply too many choices. The minor rebellion they were facing? The undoubted trap they were walking into? Anathema’s ongoing safety? Ezra’s?

He was rich with choices. Lucky him.

\--

Crowley pulled his council in for an emergency meeting and shared the update on who was behind the portal threat with them. Together they identified three members of the guard troops who would participate in the scouting mission and sent Ligur off to brief and deliver them to the rendezvous.

The prince signaled to Beelzebub that they should stay behind as the meeting broke up.

Beelzebub straightened their papers, fidgeted uncharacteristically with their jacket and sash, and avoided meeting the prince’s eyes.

Crowley waited until everyone was gone and sealed the door behind them, then rounded on Beelzebub.

“What in the blazes is wrong with you?” he asked sharply. “It’s like you’re not even here.”

Beelzebub’s usual reaction to any kind of a challenge was either a smirk or a yawn. The fact that they did neither, in this case, was telling. Instead, their dark eyes met Crowley’s and they sighed.

“I have been distracted,” they admitted.

“You have,” Crowley said, looking at them with both annoyance and genuine concern. “You’re my second in command and you seem almost completely checked out. What is happening to you?”

Beelzebub thought for a long moment and then took a breath. “I have a … personal matter that I must attend to. Something from many yearzzz ago that I must check up on. I’m afraid I will need to excuzzze myself from the court for a few dayzzz.”

Crowley frowned. This was most unusual. “ _Now_? You need to go somewhere right _now_ , while we are dealing with this threat to the entire realm?”

“It should only take a day or two,” Beelzebub said, looking their own version of uncomfortable – which, for them, just involved looking slightly less bored than usual. A secure, comfortable Beelzebub, Crowley had come to realize over the years, was a Beelzebub who seemed bored to tears. It had taken him a few centuries to understand the fascinating mind that was at work under all that ennui. 

“Will you tell me what you’re doing?” Crowley said.

They both paused, understanding the gesture for what it was. Lord Crowley was not one to be trifled with, and he rarely would allow someone the kind of privacy he was now offering his second-in-command. Anyone else on council who asked to be relieved of duty during a crisis would find themselves forced to explain in great detail what they were doing and why they had to do it now, but with Beelzebub? It was different. The centuries of working together closely and speaking the truth had led to trust, and the trust led Crowley to be careful of how he might misstep.

“I can’t tell you right now,” Beelzebub said. “But I will when I return.”

Crowley scowled. He hated trust. He hated friendship. He hated anything that made it so that he couldn’t just wrest the information he needed out of others.

With a deep sigh, he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “How long?”

“I will return in two days.”

“Good. I need your help _here_. You’re one of our strongest allies and I have work that can only be done by you.”

“I will hurry back.” Beelzebub said. “There’zzz one further thing, my lord. Could I impozzze upon your consort to watch over Juliet while I’m gone?”

Crowley waved a hand brusquely. “Yes, yes. I’m sure Ezra will be delighted. Bring her by.” 

“I am grateful,” Beelzebub said, looking oddly vulnerable as they left. “We will be by shortly.”

Crowley put that conversation aside to ponder later.

\--

Juliet watched in confusion as Lord Beelzebub packed a small bag with a few of her belongings – a favorite nightgown, a shawl, a pile of notebooks and pens that she was never without these days, and a handful of other things. What was happening? Was it a trip? They hadn’t taken a trip in such a long time now.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Beelzebub turned to look at her and the expression on their face was one she had rarely seen. They looked guilty.

“I have to go away for a few days,” they said gently. “I’m sorry but you can’t come along. I’m going to take you to stay with Ezra until I get back so that you won’t be alone.”

Juliet stared at them, dumbfounded. “I’m going to live with Ezra?”

“Not forever,” Beelzebub said. “Just a few days.”

“While you’re on a trip.”

“Yes.” Beelzebub peered at her. “Is that okay with you?”

Juliet shrugged. “Will there be cocoa?”

Beelzebub smiled. “Very likely.”

“All right then.”

Juliet set about helping by piling all the silverware from the kitchen into the bag. Beelzebub tried to be discreet when they removed it all later.

\--

Ezra’s phone buzzed unexpectedly. He pulled it out of his pocket and just stared at it. **Text message** , the screen said. **Unknown number.**

“What?” Anathema said. “You both know what a phone is by now.”

“You’re the only one who has this number,” Ezra said, still watching it like it might explode.

“Are you going to see who that is?” she asked.

Ezra raised an eyebrow and carefully opened it to find out.

_Professor Fell, it’s Adam. I need to talk to Anathema._

**_How did you get this number?_**

_Ms. Device wrote it down on her desk blotter._

_**Ah. Aren’t you clever?**_

_I’m sorry, Professor Fell, but it’s really really important. I need to talk to her._

_**Hang on.**_

Ezra paused and read the whole line of messages to Anathema.

“May I?” she said, holding out her hand for the phone. He handed it over and she quickly typed something, then poked around on the screen for a moment to place a call.

Ezra sat back to listen.

“Adam? It’s Anathema,” she said. “Can I put you on speaker so Ezra can hear too?”

He indicated his assent, and Anathema set the phone down on the table in front of them so they could both take part in the conversation.

“So, what’s wrong?” Anathema said.

“My – my –” Adam took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. “Everything’s wrong. I’ve been trying to get in touch with my mom – you know, through tarot and Ouija and things like that. And I did, I went to a séance and everything and it was really cool, and they found her – but she said she’s not my mom! That her son is with her and she doesn’t know who I am! And my dad says I’ve gone bonkers and of course I’m his son, he raised me from birth. And… and let’s just say I got it confirmed through an impartial source. I’m not Adam Young. Or at least Adam Young is Ryan Young and I’m someone else.”

“Slow down, there, please?” Anathema broke in, shooting a concerned look at Ezra. “Take a breath. This is a lot of information really fast.”

 _Should I get Crowley?_ Ezra mouthed. Anathema nodded, and he quietly headed out of the room to do so.

\--

It took some time to find Crowley, who was wrapped up in administrative work in one of the alcoves with a few others by his side. He looked up when Ezra entered, annoyed at the interruption, but then mellowed as he realized who it was. It wasn’t like Ezra to interrupt him in the middle of business.

“Ezra?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate to interrupt you, my dear, but there’s…” Ezra thought fast, since he couldn’t exactly say that it had to do with Anathema or Adam, “well, a message you need to attend to back in the apartments.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a split second, noting the urgency in Ezra’s posture and the deep look of concern on his face, then turned and excused himself to his companions and set off down the hall with Ezra.

“What is it?” he asked quietly as they moved away from prying ears.

“Adam,” Ezra said, equally discreet. “He’s found something out about his parentage.”

By the time they returned, Anathema was off the call with him.

“What does he mean he confirmed it with an impartial source?” Crowley said later as they discussed the call.

“The little maniac somehow conjured Death itself and spoke to him. Got him to go check.”

Ezra gasped. “He did _what_? How? That utter hellion.”

“That kid has powers he shouldn’t have,” Crowley said darkly. “If he isn’t Marie Young’s son, who in the blazes is he?”

Anathema shook her head. “I don’t know. But he’s pretty spooked and flying off the handle in all directions. I think I need to go back up there and calm him down before he does something worse.”

“Worse than summoning DEATH?” Ezra shrieked. “Yes, my dear, I’m sorry but I think we need to get you back up there right away. He’s going to get himself killed. Or explode the solar system. Or something else.”

“All right,” Crowley said. “I can’t go before the chasm expedition. You probably shouldn’t go while Juliet is here. Beez said they’d return in two days. Let’s wait them out and then all of us will go together.”

“In the meantime,” Ezra said, “we will call him twice daily and make sure he’s holding up to waiting. The boy seems to be becoming more and more erratic.”

And if we must, he added mentally, we will go sooner. Wouldn’t do to let Adam take the fate of the world – or at least of eastern England – into his hands.

\--

Beelzebub came by in a few hours to drop off Juliet with a small bag of her things. They did not stay, meeting no one’s eyes, and hurried off after saying a few private words to Juliet.

Juliet, for her part, was rather quiet about the whole affair, mostly looking around with big eyes even though she’d been in the apartment many times before by now. She smiled when she saw Ezra, though, and let him guide her through the hidden door that led from the outer office into the private apartments.

He wisely sat her down in the kitchen at first for a cup of cocoa, which seemed to help. Later, he took her back to the bedroom to meet Anathema, who had been briefed on the situation.

Anathema put down the book she had been reading and stood up, a friendly smile on her face.

“Juliet,” Ezra said, “this is Anathema. She’s another friend of mine.”

Anathema smiled and held out her hand. “Hello Juliet.”

Juliet studied the woman across from her. Her accent was strange, but she had the feel of someone friendly and genuine. More than that, there was something almost familiar about her energy. Juliet looked down at her hand, perplexed, and then reached out her hand to take it.

Shaking hands. She had heard about this.

“Hello,” she said, dark eyes serious. “Are you a witch?”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “I am,” she said. “How did you know that?”

Juliet shrugged. “Felt it,” she said. “Saw it. You seem like a witch. Glitch, twitch, stitch…” Her eyes roamed around the room, taking in everything and filing it away. 

Anathema looked at Ezra, who shrugged. “Juliet is constantly surprising me,” he said with a smile.

“You’ll be sharing a room with me,” Anathema said. “You can have the bed; I’ve set up on the couch over there.”

Juliet moved further into the room, and Ezra stepped back into the vestibule to let them get acquainted.

\--

Beelzebub left Crowley’s office and immediately transitioned into animal form, taking the shape of a horde of flies, allowing them to travel swiftly from the Dark Keep out through the woods into a distant stone circle where they knew a natural portal led to their desired destination. Boston, it was called. Horrible, smelly, noisy place, full of vapors and beggars and, possibly most alarming of all, Americans. Beelzebub had picked it at random, just looking for somewhere far away that met his rather specific criteria but had felt instantly at home the last time they visited.

As they flew, they thought back to their first encounters with Juliet, two hundred years ago.

Juliet was a beautiful young woman with an unusual spark and insight, able to see things they shouldn’t, including the fae themselves when they were hidden. She’d walked right up to a hill one day when the Unseelie were banqueting inside and knocked on a door she shouldn’t have been able to even notice. She’d been drawn inside and pulled into the party, where she managed to use her wits enough to escape the obvious traps (drinking or eating, making promises) and had, instead, been a lively addition to the revelry. Beelzebub found themselves drawn by her spunk and spirit, and before the end of the night they were dancing together more than apart.

Beelzebub, drawn by the strange girl, saw her safely home and admonished her gently to beware of wandering into things she did not fully understand, and they’d parted with a longing look or two but they had given her no real further thought after, aside from an admiring memory or two.

That is, until the girl showed up again, six months later, at another major fete. This time, though, Juliet seemed to know what she was doing and who she was looking for. She made a beeline for the prince’s table at the front of the room, curtsied politely, and then shocked the whole court by pulling Beelzebub out on the dance floor and keeping them there nearly all the night.

Lord Crowley had made much of their amusement at seeing the mighty Beelzebub commanded by a slip of a human girl for eons after.

After this, Beelzebub and Juliet became inseparable, visiting across the borders of Earth and Fae as often their duties allowed. Romance blossomed and passion deepened until they were nearly living together as lovers and companions in one or the other location. Finally, unable to be parted from her anymore, Beelzebub invited Juliet back to court.

It took far too long to realize how life at court was affecting her; Beelzebub could hardly believe how long they had overlooked the changes in her behavior and memory and thought processes. By the time they realized it, they and Crowley tried everything they could to fix it, undo it, reverse it – but nothing helped. Juliet continued to decline until she was more a child than the woman they had known.

Beelzebub still loved her, and devoted themselves to her care, but their physical relationship felt wrong to them with Juliet becoming more childlike, and they did their best to steer clear of it.

What they hadn’t expected was the pain at doing so. Beelzebub missed their love, and their lover. They pined and ached, although they hid it behind their stony demeanor. Only Lord Crowley, perhaps, had any sense of how tortured Beelzebub had become over the loss of Juliet’s mind.

And so, after centuries of self-denial, there came a moment, just once, when Beelzebub gave in to their wishes to mistake one of her lucid periods for a full recovery – the thing their heart wanted more than anything – and gave in to their instincts to take comfort in her once again.

They had rued the day ever since. Three lives were nearly destroyed as a consequence. And the decisions they’d been forced to make as a result had built up walls and secrets between them that could no longer be scaled.

Beelzebub had made this mess, and now they had to fix it.  
  


\--

Beelzebub found the standing stones, and stood before them for a moment, hands on hips, thinking about the last time they had been here. They’d had a baby with them, then, a hidden baby, theirs and Juliet’s. Keeping the baby was simply unthinkable; Juliet was unable to care for it, and their court responsibilities would allow them to be only a part time parent at best. In addition – a human-fae hybrid child in the Dark Keep? They might as well paint a target on their heads. That child would be the focal point of every plot and conspiracy that the court could think up; it would literally never, ever be safe.

And so, heart heavy, Beelzebub had spirited the child away, revealing its existence to no one, and headed for a place an ocean away from Ireland. Massachusetts. A quick spellcasting had revealed a woman in labor there who was not going to survive the birthing process; both she and her small son were marked for death and could not be saved.

Beelzebub, ever practical, had come up with a plan to switch the still born child with their own, allowing their son to be accepted into a human family and raised in America, an ocean away. In a place where they would be safe to grow up and live their life.

A quick power outage, a brief and massive power outflow to stop the passage of time for a few critical minutes, and Beelzebub had managed to swap the baby, ensure that Death collected the correct beings, and convince the medical staff that while the mother had died, the baby had not. Beelzebub gave the child one last kiss on the forehead, and said goodbye to their son forever.

As they left, they heard the baby’s father keening with grief, and turned to watch him take their tiny child into his arms with a bewildered expression.

He seemed to be a good man. Beelzebub checked. Their son would be fine.

They left and never looked back.

Until, of course, a child with a surprising amount of power showed up, not in Boston, but in rural England. And then Beelzebub began to get worried about who that child might be.

It was time to find out if their son had ever left America for other shores. Beez made the transition and headed out to find the records department at the prestigious university hospital they had visited fourteen years before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin revealing some of the secrets of this story. Now you know the answer to one of the biggest questions thus far. Don't worry, many surprises yet to come! 
> 
> Ok - so... 
> 
> \- This chapter does indeed include a reference to what was surely a sexual encounter of highly dubious consent. I am deeply uncomfortable with that and somewhat dreading getting embroiled in comments about it. Just wanted to point out that I know this is Not Okay and I'm not trying to gloss over it. But it's what Beez did. 
> 
> \- I intended to be a lot further along in the story by the end of this chapter but wow, there was a lot to say! So I've bumped out my chapter count again. Oh man. :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I adore you all!


	14. Storm Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fae begin exploring the chasm pulling at the portal sites. Meanwhile, Beez conducts investigations of their own. Neither goes as planned.

Crowley and Griane watched from portal windows in their respective keeps as the team they’d assembled approached the cavern. The entrance was located in a strange section of the forest where the trees were large and tortured looking, gnarled and knobbed as if hellish winds had blown across the landscape and forced them to writhe. Behind them, the rock wall they butted up against was marred by an opening, ragged and broken looking, with a path leading sharply down within it.

Stavixx took the lead, the soldiers in tight formation as they headed inside. The path was rocky and steep, and they skittered their way down it, around boulders and rockfall. Those who could do so used their wings to help. Crowley noted the uneven ground wasn’t easy for Stavixx to manage with his hoofs.

After several turns, the sunlight was lost and they relied strictly on their own illumination – torches held by a few, and a ball of light summoned by Stavixx. Soon, though, they began to sense a greenish glow from ahead of them, growing stronger. A final sharp turn brought them into an open cavern.

The green glow came from a large pool of water, split here and there by rock fall, with several jagged openings arrayed in the walls around it. It smelled fetid and damp and the water was impenetrable – you could not see the bottom or any features beneath it. They edged around it on the rock path. A low, irritating hum emanated from one of the caverns. This was their target.

As they stepped into the opening, they could immediately see the source of the sound – the cavern contained an immense monolith, the size of a small tree, with strange carvings in it, rising about 8 meters into the air. Above their heads, a jagged blue halo crackled around the upper third of it, crackling with electricity. It looked, in a word, foreboding.

Stavixx held up the gem that was allowing him to broadcast to the Queen and spoke quietly, knowing his voice would be translated through with it, despite the fact that the he could see or hear nothing in return. He stood in the entrance and turned in all directions, transmitting a thorough survey of the cavern as his soldiers carefully started edging their way around the inner walls to take a closer look.

“The monolith is emitting a low buzzing hum and the blue fire ring above it is crackling and sending the occasional spark down towards the floor,” he narrated. “There is a feeling of immense power. The stone appears to be a form of the old bluestone used for ancient workings and has been carved or written on with white chalky marks that look like runes. It appears to be incredibly old.”

He gazed for a moment at his team, fanned out around the cavern – one of them was nearly out of sight behind it – before turning his attention to the walls and floor to catch any details that they could easily miss by the way the monolith captured everyone’s attention.

“The walls are jagged unfinished rock and appear to be natural as opposed to deliberately hollowed out,” he continued. “Source of illumination is unknown and greenish in nature. Floor is granite and has clearly been smoothed out by some kind of unnatural process to allow for the monolith to be supported evenly.” He took a step forward, squinting. “There appear to be runes painted on the floor encircling the monolith.” He studied them.

 _I have a bad feeling about this,_ Crowley thought from his perch in his private tower. He watched one of Stavixx’s soldiers skirt around the left side of the monolith, their gaze drawn upward, unaware of how close their feet were coming to the runes painted on the ground.

“Stavixx!” Crowley shouted. “Your man over there – he’s about to do something monumentally –”

Stavixx couldn’t hear him of course, but his attention was nonetheless caught by the same movement and Crowley saw his head whip to the left.

“Jeromius!” he shouted. “Step back you’re about to –”

The soldier, startled, whirled around and then lost his balance entirely, landing with one foot directly on a white-painted rune. Touching it seemed to activate some kind of electrical pulse that shot him off balance and knocked him over. Windmilling to try to regain his center, the soldier tumbled toward the monolith, ending up leaning with his hands pressed against it as he caught his breath. There was a moment of perilous silence, and then the humming sound began to intensify.

“Everyone get back!” Stavixx yelled. The team, well trained by their respective courts, immediately stepped back against the wall. “To me, carefully!”

Jeromius tried to remove his hands from the monolith and found himself unable to do so. He tugged frantically as the sound got louder and louder, then his body stiffened and his head was thrown back as a convulsion went through him.

Beams of blue light shot down from the halo near the top of the monolith, searing down like lightning to connect with each of the creatures encircling the monolith. Stavixx, still in the doorway, stumbled back a step, only his professionalism forcing him to continue holding the gem aloft to transmit what was happening. He watched in horrified slow motion as each of his people convulsed in the lightning-beam they were caught in, and then crumbled to the floor. An immense thunderclap cracked through the air, and then even the bodies of the six men and women were gone. All that remained were two white handprints where Jeromius had touched the monolith.

“What the fuck???” Crowley shouted. “Blast it all to the shadow realms, what is that fucking thing?”

Stavixx, seeing that there was nothing left to save, and knowing that his report would be critical, observed for a few more moments, noting smells and sounds and energies, and then beat a hasty retreat.

\--

Beelzebub quickly found the hospital in question, and used a small glamour to make themselves look like a human doctor from one of the television shows that they had occasionally seen on visits to Earth – white lab coat, long sleek hair, serious glasses, clipboard. They wandered the hospital, using spells to get through any locked or secured doors they found, until they finally found a directory that alerted them to the location of medical records.

Of course, it was in the sub, sub, sub-basement.

Beelzebub boarded one of the strange boxes that transported creatures from floor to floor with some degree of suspicion but was relieved when it dumped them out where they had intended to be – lower level three. Now to find what they needed. They pushed through a door marked Medical Records and found themselves in an immense, cavernous room that looked like it was something out of the shadow realm. It was poorly lit, dank, and filled with row upon row of what appeared to be bookshelves, except they were much too close together to let someone wander between them. Each shelf had a large wheel on the outward end of it, which looked like it would move the shelf along a sliding track if needed. Beelzebub gaped at it blindly for a moment, then jumped when a phlegmatic sigh drew their attention to a creature that had appeared at their left elbow.

“May I help you, Dr. –” the creature peered in closely to look at Beelzebub’s nametag. “Dr. Meredith Gray?”

Beelzebub got the sense that the person was dubious about their nametag, but had no idea why. They examined the speaker -- a short, very stout woman with enormous glasses and wet eyes that were blinking entirely too much. They honestly weren’t sure if the creature was human or not; it could very well be one of the lesser trolls or goblins.

“I’m looking for birth records from about twelve years ago,” Beelzebub said. “For a Marie Anthony Young.”

“Medical record number, please?” the clerk asked in a nasally tone.

Beelzebub goggled. “I don’t know the medical record number! If I did, I’d just look it up myself.”

The clerk looked unimpressed. “Social security number?”

“No.”

“Date of birth?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

The clerk shrugged. “Well I’m sorry, Dr. Gray, but I don’t think I can help you.” They turned to walk back to their desk and as they did, Beelzebub caught a distinct whiff of something they did recognize. Troll. Trolls had a unique scent. It was unmistakable.

“Who are you?” Beelzebub hissed. “I know you’re not human.”

The creature turned and blinked at them. “I’ll have you know that’s quite racist of you, sir. Madam. Whichever it is.”

“You’re a troll! Are you Seelie or Unseelie?”

The creature picked up the phone and began punching in a number, while keeping a close eye on the increasingly agitated doctor in front of them.

Beelzebub leaned over and clicked the phone connection off. “You’ll tell me who you are or so help me I will drag you back to the Unseelie court myself. Do you know who I am?”

The creature continued to affect bored nonchalance. “Dr. Meredith Gray, I presume?”

Beelzebub gave them their best menacing loom. “You know full well I’m a lord of the Dark Hall. Now reveal yourself or I will disintegrate you right here.”

“Ok, ok, fine,” the clerk said with a deep sigh. “I am Gilta, and I am unaffiliated, and I am ON SABBATICAL.”

“On sabbatical.”

“Yes, on sabbatical,” Gilta said. “Haven’t you ever heard of a walkabout?”

Beelzebub frowned. “You’re telling me the unaffiliated trolls occasional take a walkabout to the human world to work in a hospital basement?”

Gilta looked offended. “Why not? It’s dark here, it’s damp, there are uncharted corners to dig away in and lost machinery to explore. And it’s fun to be the sole person in charge of locating records and then refuse to turn most of them over to the people who need them!”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Well whatever makes you happy. But if you want your secret kept, you’re going to find me the files that I need, and fast.”

Ten excruciatingly slow minutes later, Beelzebub left with the file in their hand, shedding the lab coat and its accoutrements as soon as they left the building. They wandered away into a nearby park and, heart pounding, sat down to open the file and see what happened to their baby. 

“Oh fuck,” Beelzebub said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

They were dead.

\--

“What the fuck just happened?” Crowley shouted into the void. Well, he shouted it into the scrying bowl. But in the moment, he found it satisfying to imagine he was shouting into the void. “Are they dead? Are they all dead?”

“Hard to tell,” Griane said. “They may return…”

Not all fae deaths were permanent. Some things could kill a fae forever – iron was inevitably fatal, as were certain kinds of poisoning and, usually, death by fire. Most other things were a temporary transition, at least if the being in question desired it. Fae were incredibly long lived and had the ability to choose a new vessel and return when and if they found themselves discorporated.

“Is Stavixx back?”

“Yes, I transported him back as soon as he cleared the cave.”

“What are we going to do about this?” Crowley said. “What in the name of the realms is that thing and how do we take it apart?”

Griane was silent for a moment. “I think,” she said slowly, “that we are going to have to go ourselves.”

Crowley was no coward; he had proven his readiness and willingness to go into battle on many occasions, and rarely had doubts about doing so. But he had to admit, this announcement gave him pause. He wasn’t particularly eager to put himself in the direct line of fire for a giant rock-thing that they didn’t understand and that was capable of burning a host of fae to a crisp in the blink of an eye. Nonetheless, he and Griane and few of their contemporaries from the Gentry were much more powerful than the soldiers they had sent in for the survey mission. If anyone was going to be able to counteract the magic creating and powering this monstrosity, it was them. And they had some of the best researchers behind them to prepare them. He supposed, really, that there was no other way.

“You still have the conspirators with you, correct?” he asked grimly. Griane nodded. “See what you can pull from their minds about how they created this. Anything we can know about the spell work and the runes they’ve used will be one step further to dismantling it. Rip it out of them if you have to.”

“I was planning to,” Griane said with a faint hint of distaste. “I will return with more information as soon as I possess it.”

\--

Beelzebub finished the glass of alcohol they’d paid for with a pile of leaves glamoured to look like currency, then read the most relevant sheet of paper one more time. It was a discharge report from the hospital social worker.

_“After a long stay in neonatal recovery to improve baby Adam’s oxygenation and extensive grief counseling and family support for the father, Mr. Arthur Young has arranged to take his baby son and move back to Colchester, England, where his family lives and can help provide support while raising a young child alone…”_

Adam Young. In England. Not quite where the child was currently located, but nearby. Most likely the family had moved when the father found a better job. Given the name, the location, and the child’s powers, there was no doubt that the teenager that Crowley and Ezra were so interested in was none other than their’s and Juliet’s child.

Beelzebub felt the cold tangle of panic creep up their spine. They should have confessed all this years ago to Lord Crowley. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he would have come around. Maybe they would’ve ended up bottled for a few months, or in general disfavor for being an idiot, but Crowley would have adjusted to it. But now? After hiding it from everyone for fourteen years? They’d be lucky to not get banished permanently to Earth for this one, if not smited out of existence all together.

There was only one thing for it, they decided. Time to go on an exceedingly long, multi-day bender before going back to face the music.

They raised their hand and ordered another drink. Then, on second thought, they magicked up a fresh pile of leaves and ordered the whole bottle. Why do things by half measures? 

\--

“It’s an abomination, what they’ve done,” Griane said. Her eyes snapped with angry fire and her already regal posture was even more imposing than normal. “They’ve drawn on the very core of Fae power to build this… this rock.”

“You can’t mean –”

“I assure you I do.”

“They’ve tapped into the Garden? How could they do that?”

“One of them has the true sight,” she reported, “and was able to find one of the remaining tendrils of its power in this realm.”

“And pervert it in this way?” Crowley bristled. “Death is too good for these bastards! I will rip them apart, snippet by speck, granule by granule. There will be nothing left to reconstitute.”

Griane smiled coolly. “Be my guest. I’d be delighted to help.” 

There were few things sacred to the Fae, but the Garden was one of them. Like the humans, the fae had their origin stories, and also like the humans, their story began in a garden. THE Garden, where the first fae were created and formed by a loving cosmos, impregnated with life and powers and beauty, and set out to enjoy and populate the realm given to them. Unlike the humans, the fae had no treacherous Tree of Knowledge – if the humans were an exercise in what it was like to be a creature formed for the exercise of self-restraint, the Fae were an exercise in how to live when one was suffused with hedonism and joy and provided with almost no practical limits. They were born there, they grew and learned while eating the fruits and enjoying the flowers of their garden cradle, and they were released into the larger world without incident. No punishment, no sin, no expiation to spend generations attempting to pay.

Some humans would envy the fae this freedom. Some humans of a narrower point of view would say that they fae might have perfect freedom of choice and action, but they could not be saved and had nothing beyond their own realm to look forward to. The fae found this amusing. Humans tended to be so sure of their own views and cosmology that they never stopped to question their assumptions about others. The fae had their beliefs and their sense of wonder and worship, with two differences – one, they almost never discussed it, and certainly never with strangers, and two, they had no need to be saved from anything or anyone.

“So, they built this monolith and wrapped remnants of the original magic around it to give it power and then what?” Crowley asked, deeply discomfited.

“It’s mostly blood magic,” Griane said. “Disgusting, crude, but extraordinarily strong. They’ve been feeding it with their own life force for some time and pointing it at the junctions between the two worlds. It would have been quite effective over time; we’d have found ourselves almost entirely cut off from the mortal world.”

“But we can undo it?”

“Yes,” Griane said, “I believe we can.”

\--

Crowley paced in their chambers as Ezra looked on in concern.

“It’s been four days,” Crowley said. “Where in the infernal realms is Beelzebub?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said. “I’m as worried as you are.”

“Well they aren’t dead, I can tell you that,” Crowley said. “I could tell if they were. They’re still on Earth. But why didn’t they come back? And why are they blocking all of my attempts to get in touch with them?”

Ezra chewed on that thought for a moment. He had to admit it was worrisome. “Should you go see?”

“I literally don’t have the time to track down my second-in-command who has decided to go rogue,” Crowley snapped. “I have a few crises on my hands here if you haven’t noticed.”

Ezra tutted. “I’m aware, my love.”

Crowley made a grimace that was mostly apology and they both let that moment go. He picked up a poker and stabbed ferociously at the diminishing fire in the grate.

“I’m going to bloody kill them when they return,” he said. “If they return.” The thought twisted at something inside him, and his scowl deepened reflexively.

“What do we tell Juliet?” Ezra asked.

“We’ll figure that out later.”

\--

Beelzebub sat on a stool at a grubby bar and eyed the empty glasses lined up in front of them. There were more than should be possible for a human-person their size, but it had taken an alarming amount to get them intoxicated and even more to achieve the level of blackout drunk they’d been hoping for. They’d been using stupidly obvious levels of magic to keep the bar open and the barkeep at their post for the last three days. Luckily, he appeared to be single and possibly friendless, as no one had shown up to see where in the heck their friend Chuck had been lately.

“Another?” Chuck said, bleary-eyed. Beelzebub looked them over and realized they were reaching the limits of how long they could keep the human awake without actually killing them. Chuck had taken on a strange, grayish pallor, his hair and beard were in complete disarray, and their movements were becoming completely robotic.

“Yes pleazzzze,” Beelzebub said, swaying on their stool. They hiccupped and a small black fly popped out of their mouth. Chuck, long since used to the horrors of their eternal customer, waved a hand to shoo it away and poured another rum and coke, which he placed in front of them with absolutely no flourish at all. Perhaps Death would come soon. He wouldn’t mind.

Beelzebub took a long, grateful sip, then waved a hand and sent poor Chuck directly home to bed. They concentrated and filled a filing cabinet back in Chuck’s office with a large amount of genuine gold, rather than glamoured leaves. Then they locked the front door and decided to take over the drink making themselves.

Just a few more, and then they were going to have to figure out what to do. Go see Adam themselves, undoubtedly. And then figure out how to return to the Dark Keep without losing their corporation in the face of Lord Crowley’s anger.

\--

“Adam?” Anathema said, laying Aziraphale’s phone down on the table and pressing the speaker button. “Are you there?”

Juliet, who had been reading quietly in the corner, looked up with interest. What on earth was this new devilry? A talking rectangle? She scooted a little closer to get a look at it, and Anathema gave her a welcoming smile. 

“Yes, I’m here,” he said. “But not for long. My dad has decided I need to talk to a child psychologist. Can you believe that? He thinks I’m losing my mind.”

“ _Are_ you losing your mind?” Anathema said, enunciating carefully.

“Of course not!” Adam said, his voice speeding up and getting a little higher pitched. “I mean – yes, I’m some kind of imposter and no one believes me, and I don’t seem to have a mother and who knows? Maybe I was hatched from an egg like – like Athena? Is that the one? No, she was hatched from a helmet. Could Athena be my mother?”

Anathema pushed up on the bridge of her glasses to straighten them and took a deep breath. “Adam,” she said firmly, “I can guarantee you that you are not the semi-divine son of a Greek goddess.”

“Can you? How do you know?”

Well he had a fair point, she thought to herself. Who really knows what could or couldn’t be real? Other pagan gods and goddesses were very, very real. She supposed it was somewhat narcissistic of her to only acknowledge the ones she personally worshipped.

Ezra cleared his throat and cut in, since Anathema appeared to be lost in thought.

“My dear boy,” he said, “I’m sure your father only wants what’s best for you. However, it might perhaps be a good idea not to talk too much with this _psychologist_ about conjuring death and meeting the rulers of the Fae. If, you know, you don’t want to end up medicated.”

Adam laughed and the sound was brittle. “I don’t plan on telling them anything. Not a single thing.”

“Well, good, I suppose?” Ezra said, raising his eyebrows at Anathema. _Help me out here_ , he mouthed.

“In fact,” Adam said, “I might just run off instead of going to the appointment. I’m sure I can live in the woods for a couple days. We had an old fort out there. Just need to gather some supplies.”

“Adam, don’t run away,” Anathema said. “You can’t. Your father will get the whole town out looking for you. Please, just hold on for a little longer. We’ll be up there soon; we’ve just run into a few wrinkles on our end.” 

“I’m fine!” Adam said. “I can take care of myself! Shoot, here comes dad, gotta go, things to take care of.”

He cut off the connection abruptly.

Ezra and Anathema stared at each other blankly.

“He’s getting worse,” he said.

“We need to get up there. Right now, I think.”

“I’ll get Crowley,” Ezra said, heading out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for all of your comments and support on the parts of the last chapter I was concerned about! Hope you enjoy this week’s installment!


	15. Thicker Than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head as Anathema, Ezra, and Juliet head up to Earth in an attempt to help Adam. No one will come out of this evening unchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning -- this is a LONG one. My apologies. About twice the length of my usual chapters, but the story takes what it wants and it wanted more words this time! On a side note, despite it's 6k length, this is only half of what I planned to do in this chapter. Ha. So much for my planning skills. All the remaining bits will be in the next chapter!

“We have to get down there,” Anathema said. “Can’t you get away?”

Crowley scowled his best scowl. “Don’t you think I want to? Excuse me, I’ve only got a minor rebellion going on, six top-of-the-line soldiers disintegrated to ash, and an evil monolith the size of a mountain to take apart without getting myself killed.” He stopped and rubbed his forehead. “I can’t go. You’ll have to go without me and see if you can get Adam under control.”

Ezra scooped up Crowley’s hand and squeezed it encouragingly. “Don’t you worry,” he said, “we will be fine, and we will be quick. We’ll just pop up, get him sorted away, and be back down before you even miss us.”

Crowley pointed at him fiercely. “You be bloody careful, you understand me? I’m sending you with protection. Shielding, at least.”

“Yes, that’s fine, dear,” Ezra agreed, quite seriously. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“What about Juliet?” Anathema interrupted. “We can’t leave her alone here. You’re going to be busy with the monolith and we’re going to be on Earth. Is there anyone else we can trust to watch over her?”

Crowley thought for a moment, then shook his head decisively.

“You’ll have to bring her with you,” he said. “It’s not ideal but it’s the best we can do right now.”

“Is that safe?” Anathema asked. “For her, I mean.”

“Beez and I took her back to Earth several times in the past when we were trying to find a cure. It never seemed to worsen her condition.”

“All right, then,” Ezra said, “that’s what we’ll do. Let’s think about what we need to take and get going in the next hour or two.”

“No portals,” Crowley snapped. “You cross at the tor, or this isn’t happening.”

“Of course,” Ezra said soothingly. “We have no intent of courting any danger, my dear.”

Crowley examined him long and hard. “Of course not,” he muttered, “but it always seems to want to court you.”

\--

Anathema headed back to her chamber to find Juliet, who was stretched out on the bed drawing something and humming quietly. She looked up when Anathema entered, and an enormous smile lit up her face.

“Ana!” she cried, sitting up. “You’re back!”

Anathema grinned at her and sat down beside her on the bed. “What are you working on?”

Juliet turned the notebook to her and showed her a picture she’d been drawing of what looked like Anathema – a somewhat abstract study of her face, rendered in silhouette, and quite good in a rough sort of way.

“Is that me?” Anathema asked.

Juliet nodded. “Like your face. Case. Space.”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you for drawing me!” Anathema said and hugged her. “And I have a question for you. Would you like to take a trip with me and Ezra?”

“A trip?” Juliet said, a little anxiously. “Like Lord Bee did?”

“Somewhat,” Anathema said. “Although this one is up to Earth.”

“I’m from Earth,” Juliet said uncertainly.

“You are. I promise you’ll be safe,” Anathema said. “And you’ll be with me and Ezra the whole time.”

Juliet thought about it for a moment, and then brightened. “I will go with you,” she said decisively, then grabbed her notebook back. “Bringing this, though.”

\--

They arrived on Earth at sunset. The area around the tor was quiet and peaceful, and Anathema called for a ride from one of her coven members. While they waited for her to arrive, they tried to explain a few things to Juliet about where and when they were. She clutched the small bag of belongings she’d insisted on bringing and looked around with big eyes. So far it didn’t look drastically different from the England she had called home. Trees and hills and greenery. A road. She didn’t see what everyone was so worried about.

When the car arrived, though, she was taken aback and retreated into the tree line.

“I can’t – what is that thing?” she said, twisting the fabric of her skirt. “It wants to swallow us up!” 

Anathema reached out a hand to her, trying to coax her into the car. “I promise you’re safe, Juliet,” she said. “It’s a carriage.”

“There are no horses,” Juliet said dubiously. “That can’t be right. Flight, sight, might…”

“Invisible horses,” Ezra said, struck by inspiration. “The humans call it horsepower.” Juliet had, after all, lived surrounded by the wonders of the fae for two hundred years. If anyone was prone to believe in magic, it would be her. 

Juliet looked into his eyes, scanning him for deception. Then she took a deep breath and relaxed.

“Oh, is _that_ all,” she said, finally.

She grinned, took Anathema’s offered hand, and followed her into the front seat.

At Jasmine Cottage, Anathema set to making tea while the others settled in. Juliet wandered the cottage, which, being old-fashioned to an extreme, wasn’t too far outside her comfort level. She picked up a poker and stoked the fireplace, and then cooed in delight as she discovered the small black kitten that was curled up on the hearth. Anathema always had at least one cat, always black. Ezra liked to tease her about the utter cliché of it.

“What do you think we ought to do?” Ezra asked as he helped Anathema. “Can we take her with us to see Adam?”

“Probably best not to,” Anathema said. “It’s a lot to take in, and she seems comfortable here.”

“Can we leave her here alone?”

Anathema frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Ezra began arranging the needed items on the tea tray. Cups and saucers, spoons, sugar, and biscuits (of course).

“Well Juliet and I will be fine right here,” he said, “while you go off and make contact with Adam. Tonight. I don’t think we should leave it much longer.”

Anathema added the teapot. “I think you’re right.”

“Meet him at my place. It will be safer; everything is still warded there.”

Anathema nodded and pulled out her phone to send a quick text off to Adam. An answering bing indicated a reply a moment later.

“He’s going to meet me there in an hour,” she said. “I’ll keep in touch.”

\--

The first hour alone passed peacefully enough; Ezra and Juliet talked a little, and soon Juliet began scribbling in one of her notebooks while Ezra flipped through some of the books that Anathema had left lying around.

Juliet looked up from her writing and stared pensively into the fire.

“Biscuit, my dear?” Ezra said, offering the plate to her.

She blinked at him several times, as if coming back from a far distance, and then reached out and chose one of the jam-filled kind. Ezra smiled, approving of her choice. Jam-filled were the best.

“What are you working on there?” he asked.

Juliet looked down at her notebook. “My brain,” she said. “It is full of things.”

“And writing them down helps?”

She nodded. “They flit around me, like… like…” she paused. “Like the little pixies. At the court. You know the ones – they buzz?”

Ezra laughed. “Yes, I do know the ones. Rather like mosquitoes, are they not?”

Juliet laughed too, then her eyes turned troubled. “Where is Lord Bee?” she asked. “See, tree, flee.”

Ezra took a swallow his tea to cover as he searched his thoughts. “We aren’t completely sure, my dear,” he said, then rushed to reassure her. “Lord Crowley assures me they are alive and well. But they have not yet returned from their business.”

Juliet stared at him, expression unfathomable. “I worry,” she said. “They are afraid.”

“How do you know that?” Ezra asked.

Juliet shrugged. “The pixies,” she said, waving an arm in front of her head. “They show me things.”

They sipped their tea for a moment and Ezra watched as Juliet’s moment of lucidity faded and her eyes went back to their more usual dreamy state. She began to hum and tapped her fingers against the edges of her cup, making a slight percussive background to her song. The fire crackled and they both watched it in contentment.

Ezra let his thoughts drift to Crowley, as they tended to do in any moment of peace. He was genuinely concerned about him; his love appeared to be under such strain at the moment. Crowley had done his best to avoid saying so, but he knew that whatever the prince and his sister were about to attempt was incredibly dangerous, so much so that the fate of the realm could be at stake. It was almost unbearable to him that he was not at Crowley’s side while he faced such a crisis – a sensation only slightly ameliorated by knowing he was taking point on another dire crisis so that his love could _focus_. Focus on one thing at a time. But it felt wrong that they were apart, each facing trouble on their own.

In the future, he resolved, he would be by Crowley’s side at all signs of danger. This was the last time he would allow them to be tested separately.

“Reading,” Juliet said suddenly, still looking into the fire.

Ezra brought his attention back to the present. “What was that, my dear?”

“Reading,” she said again. She turned to him and her chestnut hair was lit by the fire behind her, giving her an unearthly glow that made it look almost as if she were just catching flame. Ezra sputtered for a moment, suddenly caught up in the image of a witch tied to the stake. Where did that come from?

“What about reading?” he said, finally.

“They said you should read it,” she said, her voice firm. She reached forward and pushed the notebook towards him.

“You want me to read your notebook?” he asked.

“Not me,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “ _Them_.”

“Who is them?” he asked.

She shrugged. “The voices.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do as they say; it’s always best to not fight it.”

Ezra gave her a wan smile, then reached for the notebook. “Well of course I’ll read it if you – if _they_ want me to,” he said, opening the cover. “Shall I just begin at the beginning then?”

The first dozen pages or so were hard to decipher – random words and marks, little sketches. But after that, words began to form phrases, and then phrases began to form sentences, and then sentences began to clump together in groups.

Ezra reached into his pocket for his reading glasses and nestled the small gold frames on the bridge of his nose and leaned forward to examine it more closely, the book angled on his knees to catch more of the firelight.

 _Oh, good lord_ , he thought as he read a little further, as the sentences began to organize themselves into couplets and rhymes. These weren’t random sentences at all. Juliet was writing what appeared to be predictions. Future visions.

Prophecy. 

He felt a cold chill break over him. What had the bog witch said?

_A new prophetess is arising. One who will bring great instability to your reign._

_The ways will shake beneath her. Much will be lost._

Juliet. Juliet was the prophetess?

He snapped the book closed and jumped to his feet, startling Juliet out of her reverie. She looked at him questioningly.

“May I borrow this for a moment?” he asked her, indicating the notebook. She nodded dreamily. “Good, thank you my dear. I need to – I just need to contact Crowley for a moment.”

\--

Ezra ripped through the kitchen, looking for the materials he knew were there. Copper bowl, check. Spring water. Black ink. He sat down on the small bench under the crabapple tree, which allowed him a good view into the living room so he could keep an eye on Juliet, then set the bowl down in front of him and filled it with water and a small swirl of ink.

With one last look to assure himself that Juliet was peacefully occupied, he leaned forward and placed both hands on the edges of the bowl and concentrated on his love with the strength of his considerable will.

_Crowley. Crowley._

It took a moment. A long moment in which he tried to wait patiently, beating down the tendrils of worry that were bubbling beneath the surface.

Finally, an eternity later, the surface rippled and Crowley’s face appeared. His hair was tied back roughly, and he looked fatigued and concerned.

“Ezra?” he said sharply. “Are you okay?”

“I’m well, we’re all well,” Ezra assured him. “But I’ve got some major news for you.”

Crowley leaned in. “What?”

“Remember the bog witch?” Ezra asked. “What she said?”

“Of course, I do,” Crowley snapped. “What is it?”

Ezra took a deep breath. “I know who the prophetess is. It’s Juliet.”

Crowley swore. “I think you better tell me everything,” he said. 

\--

Anathema entered Ezra’s cottage with a wave of her hand and a small cantrip to avoid having to dig the spare key out of the flower bed. She flipped on the lights, wandered about to take a quick look at things, then froze as she felt a strange disturbance in the back garden.

“Already here, I see?” she said, stepping out through the back door.

Adam stepped out of the shadows and leapt for her in a desperate hug. “I came as soon as you called. Didn’t want to break in. Professor Fell would murder me.”

Anathema grinned and hugged him back. “He might,” she said. “Clever boy.”

“You broke in, though,” he added. “I felt you spring the lock with magic.”

“I’m allowed,” she said airily, then pulled back to hold him at arm’s length and look him over. “How are you? You’re positively crackling with emotion.”

Adam shivered, reminding her that it was a very cold night. “Mostly hungry. A little stressed.”

“Come inside,” she said, “and let’s talk more about everything that’s happened.”

The normal home of someone who’d been away for six months would have been almost completely devoid of food, but Anathema knew Ezra well enough to know that it was only a matter of knowing were to look. She started with the freezer, where she found both a pound cake and a hunk of good, hard cheese that she used a minor spell to defrost, then dug through the small pantry to find crackers, a tin of excellent olives, and of course, biscuits.

She laid out a spread and turned up the small kitchen grate to warm the place while Adam paced, looking at each and every book in the room, picking up knick-knacks and putting them back down again, and bouncing on his toes a little. He looked taller, Anathema realized. And thinner.

“Sit,” she said, finally, putting a cup of cocoa in front of him. “Why are you so hungry? Tell me you haven’t run away.”

“I haven’t, not exactly,” he said, flopping down into a chair and digging into the cheese first. “But I’m not spending much time at home. Just go home often enough that Dad doesn’t report me missing.”

“Well then, where are you spending your time?”

“In the fort.” He stuffed six black olives in his mouth at once and chewed messily. “Mostly go home for dinner every night so he knows I’m alive. He doesn’t really notice that I’ve been sleeping in the woods.”

“Adam!” Anathema said sternly. “In the woods? It’s October! You’re going to bloody freeze out there!”

“I’ve got a sleeping bag!” Adam argued. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Besides, he’s not really my father.”

Anathema blinked. “Adam, what do you mean by that? He’s raised you since you were born.”

“Not born,” Adam said sullenly. “Delivered. Swapped. I’m probably not even related to him. I’m certainly not related to his wife. Who knows who I am?”

“You’re Adam Young,” Anathema said. “A brilliant, complicated young man in difficult circumstances, but those circumstances don’t change everything you know about yourself.”

She reached out to lay a hand over his, and the boy flinched away. Anathema sat back in her chair and took a sip of her tea, thinking.

\--

Ezra was startled when Juliet suddenly became much more restive after his phone call. Had she heard something and misinterpreted his intentions? He watched her carefully as she began pacing the room, slowly at first, and then at a more agitated speed.

“Is something bothering you, my dear?” he asked.

Juliet came to a halt, looked at him without recognition, and continued to pace. Whatever lucidity she’d had in their earlier conversation seemed to be gone for now. She muttered occasionally, laughed once or twice, and occasionally made a noise that sounded more like a cry.

Ezra set himself to intercept her route near the fireplace, and she drew to a stop in front of him. He took her hand. “Juliet, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Pulled,” she said. “Pulling. Pulling me.”

Ezra frowned and tried to lead her back to the couch, which she allowed. “What’s pulling you?” he asked as he wrapped a blanket around her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He waited to make sure she was settled, then he went off to make a little more cocoa for them both.

\--

“What I don’t understand,” Anathema said, “is how you managed to summon Death. That’s nearly impossible, aside from actually dying.” She gave him a sharp look. “Tell me you didn’t do anything truly stupid like attempt suicide, did you?”

Adam shook his head. “No of course not,” he said. “Would that even work on me? I’m not human, after all.”

“We don’t know that for a fact,” Anathema said. “You’re probably part human, at least.”

Adam leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “You know more about this than you’re telling me,” he said.

“I assure you I don’t,” Anathema said. “I just know that there are a lot of creatures out there in the world besides humans.”

“I don’t believe you,” Adam said, with growing intensity. “I think you and Ezra and Ezra’s weird boyfriend know a lot more about this than you’re admitting.”

“Adam, no!” Anathema protested, but the boy pushed back from the table and began roaming the cottage. She noted his eyes darting across surfaces as if he was looking for something, and a thin sheet of sweat coated his forehead. He looked like he was barely in control.

“Professor Fell writes everything down, doesn’t he?” Adam asked. “Always scribbling.”

Anathema stood up and tried to make her voice and posture as imposing as possible. “I will not allow you to rummage through Professor Fell’s things.”

Adam turned to her, eyes blazing with determination. “You think you can stop me?”

\--

Juliet was still quiet when he returned and she smiled a little to see the cocoa, only to take a sip and immediately set it aside to resume her wandering. This time, however, something was different. She clutched her stomach as if it hurt her, and her face took on a look of genuine distress.

“My dear, are you ill?” Ezra asked. “You look like you’re nauseated.”

Juliet doubled over, clutching at her stomach. “It hurts!!!” she moaned.

“What hurts?” he demanded, staring into his own cocoa mug. Had the cocoa been poisoned in some way? He’d drank nearly half his cup and seemed fine, where she had only had a sip. It couldn’t be that, could it?

Juliet ignored him and breathed hard against the pain, then straightened up and looked around warily. “What is this?” she shrieked. “What is happening?”

Ezra tried to take her by the elbow, but she whirled away from him. “Come sit down,” he entreated. “Please let me look at you and see what’s wrong.”

She picked up a vase from a nearby table and hurled it at him. He ducked and it smashed into the wall behind him and shattered. “I won’t!” she shouted. “Did you do this to me?”

“Do what?” he said, keeping his voice gentle and soothing. “Tell me what’s happening, my dear.”

She doubled over again, clutching her abdomen. “This pain. It’s ripping me open!” She paused, unable to speak further, and panted for breath. “I remember this!”

Ezra cast around for ideas of what to do. He certainly couldn’t call for emergency services, not for a two hundred-year-old woman of questionable mental health with no identity and no papers. He couldn’t interrupt Anathema right now, who he suspected had her own hands full. Beelzebub was heaven knows where.

Crowley. He was going to have to get Crowley to help. 

He threw a blanket down on the floor near the fire and tried again to touch her, and this time she allowed it. “Please,” he said quietly. “Sit down by the fire. I’ll get something to make you feel better.”

She allowed him to guide her into a seated position in front of the hearth, where she immediately curled up in a ball, rocking and mumbling incoherently to herself. She looked, he thought, just like someone in the midst of a nervous breakdown. He eyed her cautiously, then hurried to the kitchen where his instruments from his earlier scrying were still laid out. He didn’t dare risk going out to the garden again, but instead mixed the water and ink right there on the kitchen table, and frantically placed a call.

Crowley would come. He had to.

“I’m a little busy here, angel,” Crowley said when he answered the call. “There are veritable _earthquakes_ happening here right now, Ezra. Earthquakes! There’s no such thing in the fae realm, or they’d be called faequakes. Or realmquakes. Never heard of that, have you?” He barely paused for a breath. “That’s because _they don’t exist._ ”

“That’s fascinating, love,” Ezra said, hardly even registering it, “but I have a real crisis on my hands here. Juliet is having a breakdown. I think she might have been poisoned.”

Crowley blinked. “Poisoned? By what?”

“I don’t know but she’s a mess. She’s screaming and clutching her stomach, and when she isn’t, she’s rocking and breaking things and pulling at her hair. I’m afraid she’s really going to harm herself. I know you’re busy, but can you come? Just for a bit? I’m – I’m not sure what else to do.”

To his credit, Crowley didn’t even stop to think it over. “I’ll be there shortly. The portals are worse than ever, though, something about the quakes. I’ll have to get to the tor. It will take me a little time.”

“Please hurry,” Ezra said, watching worriedly as Juliet resumed tugging on her hair as if she was trying to pull it out. 

\--

“If you think for one moment that I believe you’re going to hurt me in order to get your hands on Ezra’s papers, you have really lost touch with reality,” Anathema said, hands on her hips.

Adam gave her one last glare, and she was unnerved to find that she almost felt like something other than the firelight was reflecting in his eyes. Was that a glint of blue? She blinked to clear her vision but before she could look again, he had resumed his pacing through Ezra’s living room.

“Books everywhere,” Adam muttered. “If anyone knows the answer to what’s wrong with me it’s him. Him and his friend.” He picked up a thick tome that was lying on the desk in the corner and rifled through it before tossing it aside.

“Adam!” Anathema said sternly. “Pick that up. You know he’ll have a heart attack if you mistreat his books.”

Adam huffed and picked up one a thick and messy notebook that was laying on top of a pile of books in the corner. “What’s this, then?” he said suspiciously. “Doing some research into –” he looked at the top page – “fairies? Is this about me? Am I a bloody fairy?”

Anathema stepped towards him. “He’s teaching Celtic literature, Adam, you know that. Spent months on The Fairy Queen last year, didn’t you?”

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t come across something important, and then hide it from me,” Adam snarled. He threw the notebook aside and a sheaf of loose papers with tiny writing scattered across the floor. One or two of them went dangerously close to the fireplace grate, and Anathema hurried in to pull them to safety.

“Adam Young!” Anathema shouted. “You are not going to continue with this tantrum for one second longer! Sit down and take a deep breath and let’s talk about this like reasonable adults.”

Adam skittered to a halt and looked at her, shocked. For a moment, his face went young and innocent and somewhat wounded, in the way that only teenagers could do, and Anathema thought she’d gotten through to him. But then he hardened, glaring at her as hard as ever.

“You sound just like my father!” Adam shouted, clenching his hands into fists. “You know more than you’re telling me, and you just keep telling me to simmer down and be reasonable and it is NOT HELPING!”

He swung a hand across Ezra’s desk, knocking everything to the floor, and then slammed his fists down on it with an exhalation of palpable magical power. Anathema was already making a warding gesture before he completed his movement; she was almost prepared for the shower of sparks that shot out of his fists in all directions and managed to extinguish quite a few of them immediately.

In a normal home, the few that got away from her might not have been a big deal – they’d languish to death on a clean tile floor or expire on cleared countertops or surfaces that weren’t stacked with flammables.

Ezra’s home, though, was a paradise for sparks. Each and every one that escaped found itself lovingly embraced by something dry and akin to kindling – stacks of paper, loving folded blankets, ancient and dusty books. At least four sparks found their forever home and immediately kindled into joyful and glorious song, fulfilling their life’s purpose by transfiguring into first a tendril of smoke and then a tiny, gorgeous flame. 

Anathema and Adam stood frozen for a moment watching the smoke start to curl, then leapt into action, each trying to bat out the flame closest to them. Anathema raced to the kitchen for a pitcher of water, which doused the stack next to the desk that was smoldering gently, and Adam managed to beat another pile out with a pillow, but one of the books on Ezra’s desk began to burn merrily, and only Anathema’s quick thinking in grabbing it and tossing it onto the fireplace hearth prevented it from sparking the rest of a rather large pile of books next to it. Adam did the same with several other books and they stood there in shocked silence, watching the books burn to ash on the smooth stone of the hearth.

Anathema turned and went to get more water, which she used to extinguish the last of the books, and then prowled the room looking for anymore stray sparks before turning to look at Adam incredulously.

“I – I’m –” he stammered, looking pale and otherworldly. His eyes, she noted were definitely now glowing a faint rim of blue.

Anathema tried to approach him as one would a spooked and unbroken horse. Slowly and gently. “Adam,” she said, “sit down. We need to talk.”

He backed away, step for equal step with hers, shaking his head in jerky motions.

“I – I can’t!” he moaned. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to –”

He whirled and ran for the kitchen, and she heard the back door slam behind him before she could react.

“Adam, wait!” she cried out, but when she reached the back door and looked for him, he was gone.

\--

Crowley arrived in a whirlwind, looking disheveled.

“Rough commute?” Ezra asked.

“You don’t know the half of it. I nearly had to crawl through the ether by sheer force of will.” He stopped and straightened up. “Where is she?”

Ezra pointed towards the living room, where Juliet was currently moaning near the hearth. The firelight flickered over her form, intensifying the overall sense of distress.

“How long has she been like that?”

“Most of the last hour,” Ezra said. “When she’s not curled up, she’s pacing and raving and occasionally throwing things.”

Crowley walked over to her slowly and knelt close by. “Juliet?” he said. “Can you hear me? It’s Crowley.”

“Go away,” she muttered. “Stay. Fray. Obey.”

“Lord Bee sent me,” Crowley said, using the ridiculous nickname he knew Juliet preferred. “They wanted to know if you are all right.”

Juliet cracked open one eye and looked up at him suspiciously. “Lord Bee?” she said. “Lord Bee has abandoned me here.”

Ezra grimaced. She wasn’t completely wrong about that one.

“No, they haven’t,” Crowley said, in his gentlest voice. “They were very particular that we take good care of you while they were gone. And if something is wrong, we have a duty to try to help. Will you let me look at you?”

Juliet pondered his face, then obviously came to a decision. She huffed her long hair out of her face and rolled up into a sitting position, clutching her knees to her chest. Her deep brown eyes were murky and troubled as she looked up at him, but she held her position with a clear effort of will.

Crowley held out both hands and waited patiently until she laid her own hands in his, then he closed his eyes and concentrated. After a moment, he opened his eyes and straightened up.

“You’re not sick,” Crowley said to her gently. “You haven’t eaten anything that’s bad for you.”

“But I hurt!” she moaned.

“I know you do,” he said soothingly. “We’re going to try to figure out how to help you.” He leaned in and touched her temples, and a brief pulse of something passed through them. When he removed his hands, Juliet visibly relaxed.

“Is that a little better?” he asked. She nodded.

“Ezra let’s look through Anathema’s supplies and see if we can make some kind of medicinal tea for her,” Crowley said, standing up and heading to the kitchen. Ezra followed.

Apparently, tea was not just a cover as Crowley did begin digging through Anathema’s cabinets, opening various containers and sniffing things before returning them to where he found them. 

“So?” Ezra asked.

“Well, she’s not poisoned,” Crowley said. “And she doesn’t appear to be sick.”

“And her pain?”

“The pain is real but it’s not coming from anything specific. It’s more like – like a memory of pain, if that makes sense?”

Ezra frowned. “Like she’s remembering something traumatic, and it’s causing pain for her in the current moment? I’ve heard of that. Psychosomatic trauma.”

“Yes, exactly,” Crowley said, continuing to dig and sniff-test random items.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something soothing,” Crowley said. “Or something that might make her sleepy.”

“Allow me,” Ezra said, pushing him aside. “I believe I know just the thing.” He opened a different cupboard and dug out a small purple tin. “Valerian root and lemon balm, with a touch of lavender. She makes me drink it occasionally when I’m spinning.”

“Hard to imagine,” Crowley said sotto voce, and was rewarded with a quick poke to the side.

\--

Juliet was halfway through the cup of tea when Ezra’s phone rang insistently. He stepped out of the living room to answer it.

“Ezra?” Anathema said, sounding quite stressed. “Bad things are happening over here. I need you.”

“Things are a bit difficult over here, too,” he replied. “What’s going on?”

“Adam’s completely out of control,” she said tersely. “He’s angry, he’s manifesting his powers, he’s in an aggressive mood. He made a slight mess of your house and then took off, but I think I’ve tracked him down. You need to get over here.”

Ezra closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When it rained, it poured, as the saying went. He stopped himself from asking about his house. “Where are you?”

“You know the big field behind your back garden, with the footpath that goes back towards the woods?” she said. “Take the path into the trees. Believe me, you’ll see us.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ll be there very soon.”

“We? You can’t bring Juliet. This is getting dangerous.”

“Crowley’s here. We’ll be right here.”

Anathema hung up without saying goodbye.

After a quick huddle, they decided that the only thing they could really do was use a charm to put Juliet into a deep sleep for the time being, to allow them time to go help Anathema. Crowley did so gently, and then they carefully laid her on the couch and covered her with a blanket to keep her warm. The kitten hopped up onto her chest and settled in, purring, as if it wanted to help heal her. Crowley reinforced the warding around the cabin and set spells over each of the doors to admit no one besides them, and then they made haste for the woods.

\--

Anathema was true to her word – the minute they materialized in the clearing behind Ezra’s back garden, they could immediately tell where they needed to be going. The unearthly silence was a clue, as was the loud crackle of power emanating from the woods, but what really gave it away was the sparking blue glow they could see emanating through the trees.

Crowley grabbed Ezra’s hand protectively and they cautiously entered the woods.

About twenty meters in they found the source of the disturbance – Anathema and Adam, squared off defensively in a small clearing, both crackling with magic.

“What’s happening here?” Crowley thundered.

“Oh perfect,” Adam shouted, rounding on them. “The king of the weirdos! Here to keep me in the dark, are you?”

Ezra blinked, and put a restraining hand on Crowley’s arm. Perhaps yelling at the disturbed child had not been the right approach, he thought wryly. Who could have guessed?

“Adam,” Ezra said gently. “Tell us what’s happening here.”

Adam looked at him, his eyes blazing with blue light, and for just a moment he faltered and looked oddly guilty, Ezra thought. Why guilty? He pushed out of his mind any thoughts about what exactly Adam had done to his home. That could wait.

“Professor Fell,” he said. “Stay back.”

“I have no intention of crowding or rushing you,” Ezra said soothingly, staying firmly where he was. “Just tell me what’s got you so upset.”

Adam let off a spark of power almost inadvertently. “I’ve had it with all of this! With all of you! You just – no one is _helping_ me! I talked to bloody Death! I can incinerate things with hardly a thought! I am bloody freaked out and I need to know who I bloody _am_!”

Crowley took a step closer to Anathema, clearly concerned about her safety. Adam tracked his movements and shot a bolt of sparks towards him that stopped him in his tracks. “And you!” he said. “If there’s anyone here who clearly knows exactly what I am and what I’m capable of, it’s you!”

Crowley cleared his throat. “I assure you I do not,” he said. “Although, honestly, not for lack of trying.”

“You’re the king of the fae, aren’t you?” Adam shouted. “I don’t believe for one second that you can’t just – I dunno, take me apart and look me over and tell me exactly what I’m made of.”

“Wouldn’t I just like to try, right about now,” Crowley muttered under his breath. Ezra shot him a reproving look.

“We’re not your enemies, Adam,” Anathema said. “We’re on your side. Whatever your origins, we will help you figure it out.”

“My father isn’t related to me and doesn’t even know it!” Adam continued as if he hadn’t heard, looking more and more unhinged. “My mother isn’t who I thought she was! My whole life I’ve missed someone who wasn’t even real! Do I even have a mother?”

“Of course you have a mother,” Ezra said.

“Well I want to SEE her!” Adam said in an explosion of sparks. “If you want to help me, find her!”

Ezra took a deep breath. “We’re trying. Just… try to take a deep breath and calm down a little. We can go back to my place and have a bit of tea and try to sort this out. It will all make more sense once we talk it through.”

“You all keep saying that!” Adam shouted, vibrating. “But you’re all a little bit more than you seem, aren’t you?” He pointed at Anathema. “You’re a witch and a half with some sort of special relationship with other realms” He spun to Crowley. “God only knows what _you_ are.” And finally, he pointed a crackling finger at Ezra. “And you? Are you fully human? You’re conveniently in the middle of a whole lot of otherworldly stuff. How do I know you haven’t been lying to me this whole time?” 

Ezra kept his voice low and quiet. “I’m afraid I am nothing more than a human, my dear boy.”

“And what am I?” Adam shouted. “Why can I do this?” He made a motion and shot a bolt of light at a nearby tree, which splintered. “And this?” He lifted a rock the size of his head with a gesture and sent it flying at another tree trunk, where it embedded deeply, leaving a gaping wound.

“We don’t know, Adam,” Crowley said, stepping carefully towards him. “But we’re here to help you find out. We’re perhaps the only people who can.”

“I said stay – back – “ Adam shouted, his whole body convulsing. His eyes began to light up with a strange blue glow, and a bubble of light formed around him. Inside it, they could see him, his back arched painfully and his arms held stiffly out to the sides, looking up towards the sky as the bubble began to lift him off the ground. He rose until he hung about three meters up, just out of any of their reach, and a cursed, broken howl began to emit from him, echoing off the trees around them.

“Who – am – I –” Adam shouted, his voice sounding almost inhuman. “And where – is—my – MOTHER!”

A crackle of energy began to build up around him, and Crowley, Ezra, and Anathema looked at each other in fear.

“He’s going to blow something up,” Anathema said tersely.

“Get behind me,” Crowley said, shoving the two of them behind him. “I can shield you, I think.”

Ezra pulled Anathema to him and took Crowley at his word. “I hope you can, my love. This feels big.”

The electric hum increased to the point where they could hardly stand the sound, clawing at their ears, and every hair on their bodies stood erect as small bolts of static electricity began zipping off the edges of the energy sphere around Adam. A few of the trees around them began to sizzle, and a wet, smoky smell began to permeate the scent of ozone.

“Down,” Crowley yelled, turning and flattening them both to the ground as an immense bolt of lightning burst off of the bubble, heading their way. It crashed through where they had just been standing, exploding a tree behind them, and Ezra had just a moment to realize they were done for if Adam shot their way again.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he shouted to Crowley, who nodded back frantically, and they started to crawl towards the perimeter when all in a single instant – everything stopped.

The hum of electricity suddenly dropped to barely perceptible levels.

The lights that were zapping random shrubbery around the perimeter suddenly held.

Adam’s long and painful howl stopped suddenly and intensely.

In the deafening silence, a single footstep on the other side of the clearing broke a handful of twigs, and then stopped. Then another. Then one more.

Anathema, Ezra, and Crowley instinctively stopped and turned towards the clearing to see who had entered.

“Adam,” a voice said. “Child.” A pause. Then it continued, more softly. “Wild. Reviled. Smiled.”

“Is that –” Ezra began.

“Oh my god,” Crowley murmured.

“Shut up, both of you!” Anathema whispered.

Juliet’s face emerged in the dim blue light illuminating the clearing, looking up at the bubble of electricity. “Come down, child,” she said, her voice impossibly soft.

The light burst suddenly, and the last thing they saw before they were temporarily blinded by darkness was the thin, pain-racked figure of Adam, ricocheting off the ground and then lying very still, the silhouette of Juliet by his side.

“Mother?” he asked, voice suddenly sounding so incredibly young.

“Shhh,” she answered. “I’m here. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting near the end although we still have a lot of ground to cover and at least two or three other major plot points to bring to an end. I might be able to get this done in the next 3-4 chapters. I will try! 
> 
> I love my readers! Please let me know what you think!


	16. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the revelations of Adam's parentage, everyone needs a few moments to regroup.

Three thousand two hundred and seventy miles away, Lord Beelzebub shook the last of the alcohol from their system, straightened their coat, and used a quick spell to freshen up their appearance. Enough avoiding things, they thought, and, honestly, going on an extended bender hadn’t really helped. Time to find their son, see if they needed help, and then track down Lord Crowley and tell him everything.

With one last glance around the bar they’d made their home for nearly a week now, they closed their eyes, cast their senses out in search of Adam Young, and transported themself to his current location.

\--

Shocked, stunned silence reigned through the clearing, broken only by the soft sound of sobbing from the figures on the far side.

“Is that –” Ezra said again. “Is that… Juliet?”

“I think it is,” Anathema breathed. “How is that possible?”

“But that would mean –” Ezra started, then stopped. He turned to look at Crowley, beside him, who was watching the tender reunion with hands clenched at his sides, his posture rigid, face white as a sheet. A casual onlooker might misinterpret this as shock, but Ezra knew him better. This was fury. Pure, unadulterated fury.

“That would mean,” Crowley bit out quietly, “that Adam is the child of Juliet and Beelzebub. Beelzebub, my second in command, who never breathed a word to me about this.”

A voice behind them broke the silence. “I did not know the boy was here,” they said, “until a few dayzzz ago.”

Crowley was on them in a flash, hand around their neck, pinning them to the nearest tree. He kept his voice down to not alert Juliet, but the rage was palpable in his every word.

“How fucking DARE you,” he glowered. “I trusted you beyond all my counselors. You were my right hand at court. And for fourteen years you kept this secret from me? Never occurred to you during this whole changeling thing to say, ‘oh hey, by the way, my hybrid child I dumped on Earth might be a part of the issue?’”

Luckily Beelzebub didn’t really need the air, or speech might have been impossible. “I left the boy on another continent,” they said. “I had no idea he was in England!”

Crowley shook them by the neck, hard. “That is _not the point_!”

“I’m aware of that!” Beelzebub shouted. “I’m sorry!”

Crowley let go of him suddenly and they fell to the ground, where they huddled in a lump, looking warily at the prince, who towered over them.

“You’re sorry!” he spat. “For fourteen years of deception!”

Beelzebub’s usual pallor became a shade or two lighter. “I submit to your judgment,” they said. “I know it’s earned. But could I see him first? Before you... whatever you do.”

Crowley eyed them coldly, trying not to be moved. This creature, he reminded himself, was no longer trustworthy, and certainly no longer their friend. He was also, however, aware of Ezra, hovering around the edges of this conversation and somehow, wisely, not interfering, but listening all the same. And if there’s one thing Crowley couldn’t do, it would be face Ezra after refusing to let Beez see their son.

“On one condition,” Crowley said. “You let me shutter your powers so you can’t flit off somewhere.”

He heard whispering behind him from Ezra and Anathema, no doubt wondering what that meant. As Lord of the Unseelie, Crowley had a unique ability to temporarily block another’s powers – even a creature as powerful as Beelzebub – but only with their express agreement and consent. Such a thing was rarely used, usually only for purposes of disguise. Requiring consent made it worthless for defeating an enemy in combat. To use it for punishment purposes was deeply humiliating and insulting.

Beelzebub didn’t give it a thought. The price was worth it, without question. “I consent,” they said. “Go ahead.”

Crowley made an arcane gesture, mumbled a few words, and laid a hand on Beelzebub’s temple. There was a brief hum, and then it was over. Beelzebub flexed their fingers experimentally, then nodded.

“Fine,” they said. “May I?”

Crowley nodded. He and Ezra and Anathema watched as Beelzebub made their way over to the huddle of mother and son, then fell to their knees beside them. Their conversation, whatever its tenor, was beyond their hearing, reaching them in only soft murmurs.

“I wonder what they’re all feeling right now,” Anathema said thoughtfully. “Did Juliet know she had a son?”

Ezra frowned. “I don’t think so. If she did once, she must have lost the memory of it.”

“Or it was removed,” Crowley said darkly.

“I don’t think Beelzebub would have done that to her!” Ezra protested. “That would have been an awful thing to do.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

\--

Beelzebub spent ten long minutes with Juliet and Adam, and then walked back to Lord Crowley with their eyes clouded over with pain.

“I’m ready,” they said with quiet dignity.

Crowley nodded, snapped a finger, and Beelzebub disappeared.

“Are they –” Ezra said.

“Bottled,” Crowley snapped. “For transport only.”

“Will you –”

“Do not question me!” Crowley shouted, then visibly made an effort to calm down. “Not right now, I mean, Ezra. I will talk with you about it later.”

Ezra nodded quietly, face thoughtful, and then turned back to Anathema, who was heading towards Adam and Juliet.

She crouched down beside them and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s cold here,” she said quietly. “Shall we all go back to the cottage where we can talk?”

Adam and Juliet shuffled to their feet, both looking exhausted, and allowed themselves to be led back to the cottage. 

\--

“I have to go back,” Crowley said, almost apologetic. “I need to get back to the plans we were making for taking apart the monolith. You all can stay here, that’s fine –”

“I’m coming with you,” Ezra cut in.

“What?” Crowley said. “You don’t have to. Might even be safer here, all things considered.”

“No,” Ezra said, “this is not open for discussion. You’re facing dangerous times at home and I do not wish to be apart from you at such a moment. We are in this together.”

Crowley opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, then gave up. His demeanor lightened almost imperceptibly. “Okay,” he said, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

Ezra turned to Anathema. “Can you manage here without me for a little while?”

Anathema looked into the living room, where Juliet and Adam were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, talking. “I think so,” she said. “They both seem much calmer, somehow, since the clearing.” 

“I hope so,” Ezra said, contemplating them. “I hope they both get some peace from this.”

“I’ll call you if anything is going wrong,” Anathema said. “Promise.”

\--

Crowley was mostly silent on the trip home. Both the tor and the passage back to the fae realms seemed to have quieted down significantly, making the trip only slightly less fraught with tension than it might have been.

“Do you think Adam was having an effect on the ways between the worlds?” Ezra asked as they mounted the steed Crowley had left behind and set off for the Dark Keep.

“Most likely,” Crowley muttered. “That boy holds a remarkable and honestly quite dangerous amount of power, and he was bending both your realm and mine towards his will in trying to call his mother to him. As was Juliet, apparently.”

“So, it’s not just the monolith?” Ezra said, holding on tighter to Crowley’s waist as the steed sped up upon emerging from the deepest part of the woods.

“More like a perfect storm of different forces pulling on all the connection points between both worlds.”

Ezra considered that. “I hope that might help, you know, make things easier when you go to dismantle it.”

“Me too,” Crowley said.

They rode in silence most of the rest of the way.

At the Dark Keep, Crowley tossed the reins to one of the stable workers and they took a passageway from beneath the stables that led deep into the bowels of the castle. They took a long, winding staircase down, then another heading in an entirely different direction, then several sharp turns, then went through a long, dim hallway that was lit by torches.

“Where are we heading?” Ezra asked, looking around in interest. He hadn’t been on this level before. Was it a basement, he wondered? Did castles _have_ basements? He was sure that wasn’t the right word, but Crowley looked grim and determined and he decided not to ask.

“Dungeons,” Crowley said, sounding distant.

Ezra halted, surprised, and then scurried to catch up as Crowley strode on ahead. Wouldn’t pay to get lost down here, he could tell. It was dank and damp and there were strange smells, and he was pretty sure something had just dripped on his coat.

“You have dungeons?” he asked.

Crowley turned to face him, incredulous. “Of _course_ I have dungeons, Ezra. I’m literally the king of the evil fae.”

Ezra rolled his eyes.

Soon they stopped in front of what appeared to be a solid, unremarkable rock-face with a single torch in it. Crowley reached out and touched a small crevice just below the torch and the wall swung open inwards, illuminating a broad platform over a dismal chasm that plunged down to unimaginable depths and was lit from below with the faint glow of lava. On each side of the platform, sharp, wicked-looking stairs led off in each direction, each reaching a different level of walkways that had been carved into the surrounding walls, some of them lined with barred openings that were clearly cells, some lined with small doors with no openings that looked almost like kennels, and some leading to strange looking apparatuses that Ezra couldn’t identify. Torches at random intervals flickered ominously. It was wet, cold, and very unwelcoming.

Ezra shivered. “Impressive,” he said faintly.

Crowley was clearly distracted. “Thanks,” he mumbled, not hearing the discomfort. He looked around for a moment, then led the way down the stairs towards one section of barred cells.

To Ezra’s relief, most of the cells they passed were empty. It seemed Crowley wasn’t much of one for using his dungeon, given that bottling up his enemies was so much more convenient and, likely, more satisfying. He made a mental note to ask about this later.

Crowley stopped in the far corner in front of a large cell and snapped the gate open. Once inside, he pulled out the bottle he had used for transport and tossed it to the far side of the room. Ezra braced for it to smash on impact but, of course, it did not, being a magical bottle that obviously didn’t obey the laws of nature. Instead, it sat quietly, rolling slightly side to side, until Crowley muttered a word and made a gesture with his left hand, and suddenly the bottle was gone and Beelzebub sat in its place, curled up in a ball.

“That was unpleazzzant,” they said in greeting.

“Be glad you’re not spending the next century in there,” Crowley sniffed.

“So, this is where I am to live?” Beelzebub said, looking around grimly.

“For now,” Crowley said. “Until I have time to deal with you more fully.”

“Will I have my powers returned to me?” they asked.

Crowley twitched with repressed violence. “You will _not_.”

“Very well,” Beelzebub said. “But I would like the opportunity to try to explain, when you are ready to hear it.”

“You might be waiting quite some time for that,” Crowley said coldly, sweeping out of the cell.

Ezra hesitated, and Beelzebub turned their gaze to him. “I’ll try to help,” he said quietly. “We will watch over Juliet, please don’t worry about her.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow and nodded, a look of gratitude passing over their face. “That would be unusually kind,” they said.

“EZRA!” Crowley shouted from outside the cell, making them both jump.

“Goodbye,” Ezra said, and then he left, giving Crowley an apologetic look. No point in poking the bear when the bear was already in the mood for murder.

Crowley locked the cell door behind them, and they headed for their quarters. The dungeon entrance slammed closed and sealed into an undifferentiated rock face once again. Ezra stared at it for a moment, trying to see where the crevice was that turned it into a door. He wasn’t sure he could make it out.

“Keep up, will you?” Crowley snapped from several yards down the hallway. “There are dark things down here.”

Ezra did his best.

\--

Crowley remained in a foul mood for most of the evening, and Ezra, truly sympathizing, did his best to both give him space and bring him a little comfort. Unfortunately, space seemed to be what Crowley truly needed. After accepting a little of the food that Ezra brought him and allowing a hug or two, Crowley banished himself to his desk and buried himself in papers. His desire for further conversation about the events of the day was obviously nonexistent, and Ezra reluctantly let him be.

Instead, he wandered back to their rooms and texted Anathema. 

> **_How is it going up there?_ **

The dots appeared almost immediately, indicating that she was typing. He stared at them, transfixed by the idea that they were literally in two different worlds and could connect so immediately. Magic and technology were indeed wonderful things, and sometimes wholly indistinguishable from each other.

> _Quite well, actually. Adam and Juliet are getting to know each other. It’s good to see._
> 
> **_Has the boy calmed down?_ **
> 
> _He has. No more pyrotechnics. They’re both exhausted, but stable, and Juliet seems to be feeling much better than usual._
> 
> **_Oh? In what way?_ **
> 
> _She seems – much less lost, somehow. Clearer-headed. I think some of her memories are returning._
> 
> **_That’s interesting…_ **

Ezra pondered that one. Perhaps Juliet’s distress was only partially caused by her long stay in the Fae realms; perhaps the emotional trauma of having and losing her child had worsened it, made it more intractable? Either way, it could only be a good sign that her mental fog was lessening. He wanted to let Beelzebub know. They must be worrying.

> _What happened to Beez? She’s been asking._
> 
> **_Bottled of course, but only for a bit. In a cell now, but not being tortured or anything, just left to cool their heels until Crowley decides what to do._ **
> 
> _Will he kill them??_
> 
> **_No, I don’t think so. He just needs to deal with the current emergency and then I’m sure they will work something less drastic out._ **
> 
> _I hope you’re right about that._

Ezra did too.

\--

A tentative knock at the door of the outer study revealed Ligur and Hastur standing in the vestibule, looking nervous but determined.

“Yes, yes, what do you need?” Crowley snapped, waving them in.

Ligur held a scroll in front of him, almost as if he expected to need it in self-defense. “Pardon me, Lord Crowley, but it’s just that – well, you see we –”

“Spit it out, would you?”

Hastur stepped forward and puffed his chest out. “We’ve been continuing our research, like we told you, boss – on Ezra’s mortality. And we have something to show you.”

Crowley froze. “I’d completely forgotten you were researching that.”

“We’ve been hard at work on it.” Ligur said excitedly, the chameleon on his head shifting color rapidly with his changing emotions. “And the thing is, we think we may have found something you can use.”

Crowley looked back and forth between them. “Sit,” he said, “and tell me as plainly as possible.”

Ligur sat down, Hastur beside him, and began to unroll the large scroll on Crowley’s desk.

\--

Ezra couldn’t stop thinking about Beelzebub, locked away in the dungeons. Was anyone feeding them? Were they suffering? The more he wondered about it, the more he couldn’t shake the thought that he needed to go down and check on them. He considered doing so without saying anything to Crowley, but at this point in their relationship, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know how that would unfold. So, he began to watch for the right moment to bring it up.

The right moment, in the end, found him.

He and Crowley were dining alone in their apartments, and for once Crowley seemed to be fairly relaxed, leaving the current crises alone and talking instead about happier topics – where they might travel to once things were calmer, what creatures Ezra had yet to meet, the foods Crowley had yet to taste on Earth.

Ezra gathered his courage as he uncorked another bottle of the keep’s best reserve and poured them both a large glass of a deep, gold-rimmed red. Then he took a deep breath and turned to speak – only to find Crowley watching him intently.

“What is it, Ezra?” he asked quietly. “You’ve had something on your mind all evening.”

Ezra frowned. He thought he’d been so careful. “Can I speak freely?”

“When has my opinion on the matter ever stopped you before?” Crowley said, long-sufferingly but with a glint of humor.

Ezra gave him a _look_. “Yes, yes, but that’s why you love me, isn’t it?”

Crowley took an appreciative sip of the wine. “Among other reasons,” he said. Then waited. “So?”

“I’ve been thinking about going to check on Beelzebub,” Ezra said all in a rush. “A year ago, I would have just done it without telling you. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“So, you’re what, asking my permission?” Crowley said, looking irritated.

“No,” Ezra said firmly, drawing himself up and refusing to be baited. “I’m bringing it up for discussion. I know that’s quite a sore spot for you.”

“A bit, yes,” Crowley said wryly. “Why do you want to?”

“To see how they are,” Ezra said, thinking. “To see if they need anything, or if there’s anything they want me to tell you. They were your _friend_ , Crowley. You can’t just leave them in the dungeon to die.”

“The only reason they’re in a cell and not cramped up in a bottle of mist is because they were my so-called friend,” Crowley retorted. “I haven’t decided what to do with them yet beyond that. And they’re not going to _die_ down there. They can just sleep or meditate or even go into stasis if they want; it’s not like they’re _human_ and are going to expire after a week without food or water.”

Ezra, feeling rather put out on behalf of humans, frowned. “Well I didn’t know that,” he said testily. “Nonetheless, I’d like to visit them. Will you forbid it?”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, absorbing that, then let out a long, deep breath. “I won’t. But I don’t like it.”

“Thank you, my love,” Ezra said. “I won’t interfere, I promise.”

“You will,” Crowley said. “You know you will.”

Ezra poured more wine and said nothing in response.

\--

At Crowley’s request, Ezra consented to an armed escort down to the dungeons. A surly soldier with pointed ears and immense black eyes greeted him with a grunt, then led him to the dungeon while wielding an absurdly enormous sword. Ezra opened the rock panel using Crowley’s instructions and made his way down to Beelzebub’s cell. His companion took up a suspicious and protective stance nearby, just out of hearing range.

It took a minute for Ezra’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and make out the interior of the cell, but when they did, he saw Beelzebub, sitting cross legged near the back wall, eyes closed. He couldn’t tell if they were breathing. Perhaps they didn’t really need to.

“Pardon me,” Ezra said, clearing his throat nervously. “Are you awake?”

Beelzebub’s eyes flew open. “Who izz it?”

“It’s me,” Ezra said, stepping towards the bars so the dim glow from the cell’s single torch could illuminate him. “I, er, came to check on you. See how you’re doing.” He stopped, aware how inadequate this all sounded.

Beelzebub unfolded and walked towards him. “Did Crowley send you?”

“No,” Ezra admitted, “but he knows I’m here.”

“Good,” Beelzebub said. “That’zzz good. Wouldn’t pay to have him think anyone else wazzz betraying his trust.”

Ezra nodded. This was true. “So,” he said lamely, “how are you?”

Beelzebub gestured around themself. “I am – well, I am alive, and not in a bottle, so that is something.”

Ezra grimaced. “Can I ask? What were you thinking? Why didn’t you tell Crowley about this when it happened?”

“I have been asking myself that,” Beelzebub said. “It was a complex and delicate situation, at the time. Fae-human hybrids are strictly forbidden, so I’d already committed an act of treason just by the baby’s existence. The right thing to do would have been to submit the child to be judged and, likely, destroyed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Of course not, Ezra thought. No matter what, the one thing he knew for certain is that Beez loved Juliet and had mourned the descent into madness for at least a century. Harming her – _their_ – baby would have been more than they could bear.

“Would he really have done that?” Ezra asked. “Destroyed your child, right in front of you?”

Beelzebub thought. “Perhaps not,” they allowed. “But his would not have been the sole voice involved in the decision. I suspect he would have tried to save it, to help me – but doing so once the child was a known quantity would have been incredibly dangerous, both politically and for the child itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anti-hybrid sentiment is rampant in both Seelie and Unseelie,” Beelzebub explained. “And once the child was known to exist, even if Crowley had pardoned it and allowed it to live, it would have had a constant target on its head from every radicalized moron in the realm.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Ezra said.

“And Lord Crowley? Showing mercy for a hybrid baby?” Beez made a face. “It would have been seen as complete unfitness to rule.”

Ezra nodded. Much as Beelzebub’s decisions were largely the wrong ones, he could understand the reasoning behind them. “Perhaps Crowley will be able to understand that, eventually,” he said.

Beelzebub shrugged. “He is not known for his forgiveness,” they said flatly. “But that’s immaterial. Is Juliet safe?”

Ezra smiled. “Juliet is safe and very well, actually,” he said. “Meeting Adam seems to have cleared her mind a little. She is on Earth, getting to know him, and Anathema reports she is seeming less and less confused.”

Beelzebub looked deeply surprised. “She is … recovering?”

“It’s early to tell, but possibly. She’s certainly much more at peace.” Ezra thought for a moment. “Did you know that she was writing prophecy?”

“What?” Beelzebub said sharply. “What does that mean?”

“Her notebooks,” Ezra said. “Have you ever looked at them?”

“On occasion, Beelzebub said, “but not recently. I saw little that made sense to me the last time I looked. Just scratching and scribbles and random words.”

“They began that way, but recently, well – she’s having visions,” Ezra said. “Says voices speak to her.”

“That’s always been the case,” Beelzebub said dismissively.

“Yes, but she’s now writing couplets about them that take the form of future visions,” Ezra said. “Which means –”

Beelzebub groaned. “Which means she’s the prophetess? That the bog witchezzz warned us about? I’m dead, that seals it. Lord Crowley must think I knew about that too.”

“I don’t know that he’s even thought about that yet,” Ezra said. “But you must admit, she fits the bill. Both she and Adam were sending out their distress into the ether, trying to find each other, and the portals were bent in the crossfire. Whatever the monolith has been doing, everything was worsened by their involvement.”

“The wayzzz shook beneath her,” Beelzebub intoned, remember the words of the bog witches. “Damn. I’ve been blind. He’d be right to turn me to dust.”

Ezra tried to offer a reassuring smile. “I will speak to him,” he said, “on your behalf. As soon as he and Griane finish dismantling the monolith. Don’t despair.”

Beelzebub gave him a long, undecipherable look. “I am glad you came to visit,” they said finally.

Ezra had much to think about on the return trip.

\--

While Ezra was gone, Crowley went down to the armory to check on a few pieces of equipment he thought he might need, and while he was there, he sealed the room and placed a scrying call to Griane, to talk further about her research into the monolith.

“I know how we can dismantle it,” she told him. “You won’t like it.”

“Great,” he said acerbically. “Perfect. Let’s hear this wonderful plan.”

“Well,” she said, “we can’t touch it. We can’t take it apart by hand. Our usual magics will be useless against it. The only thing that can counter it is its opposite and equal magical force.”

Crowley’s head began to buzz. “You don’t mean…”

“It’s the only way,” Griane said. “The makers warped a thread of the essential generative energy of this realm to make the monolith. The only way to unmake it is with the elemental cataclysmic forces. The ruinous, the annihilative energies. I can wield them powerfully enough to combat this, but only if you are my balance.”

“That’s incredibly dangerous, not to mention completely backwards,” Crowley shouted. “I won’t let you be the one to take that kind of a risk.”

Griane, as always, was too dignified to tut at him, but she looked like she wanted to. “You know where our strengths lie, brother,” she said calmly. “For whatever reason, whatever courts we’ve ended up ruling, we both know that I am better at destruction and you are better at creation. Together we are a perfectly balanced pair.”

“I won’t be the alpha to your omega if it’s going to get you killed,” Crowley said, hating that what she said was true. He was the feared lord of the unseelie court; he should be the one to shape elemental forces into the unmaking of things, but his talents had always lain elsewhere – in conjuring phantasmal beauties and horrors from the base elements of their world, in building spires and lava pits and forest glades and torture chambers and warping earth and air, fire and water, to his needs and will. He sometimes felt as if he could create whole worlds if he really tried – summon a ball of fire like those he’d seen in Ezra’s world, in the night sky, and set them spinning in the dim, continual gloaming of their sky. What were they called?

Stars, he thought. He wanted to try to make stars. Perhaps some day he would get a chance to try.

Crowley swallowed. “You know the risks,” he said woodenly. “If you unleash those forces, you can lose control of them so easily. You might aim to unmake a single monolith on the edge of the borderlands and end up wiping out half of the realm.”

Griane nodded. “And left to my own devices, I most likely would. But if we wield them together, you can keep me in check.”

He sighed. “I suppose there’s no other option.”

“So, we are resolved then,” Griane said. “We proceed with the plan?”

“Yes, we do,” Crowley said reluctantly. “How long do you need to prepare?”

“I must spend the evening meditating and delving into levels of power I have not used in centuries,” Griane said. “You would be wise to do the same. I will be ready by the morning.”

Crowley nodded. “I will see you tomorrow, then.”

\--

Crowley’s heart was heavy as he walked back to the apartments. He found himself sincerely hoping that Ezra was back from his trip to the dungeons. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to lose himself in companionship for a few hours. The world was whirling around him in an increasingly dangerous maelstrom: rebellions, betrayals, cataclysms. More and more, it seemed like the only thing he could truly count on was Ezra.

“Ezra?” he called as he strode in through the outer office. “You here?”

“In here,” came a voice from the study. When he entered, he found Ezra perched on the sofa closest to the immense fireplace, a bottle and two glasses in front of him on the table. Something tawny glittered in each.

“Thank the powers,” Crowley sighed, falling onto the cushion next to Ezra, and flopping boneless onto his chest. Ezra smiled and wound both arms around Crowley, pulling him closer. “You’re the only creature in the entire universe I want to see right now.”

“Well isn’t that a coincidence,” Ezra said with a smile. “You’re the only person I want to see right now as well. Lucky us, finding each other.”

Crowley snaked a hand out for one of the two glasses and leaned up just enough to pour most of the contents down his throat. “Mmm, port?” he asked. Ezra nodded. “More please.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ezra said.

Crowley thought. Of course he needed to tell Ezra what they were planning for tomorrow, and he would. He also needed to prepare himself, as Griane had suggested. But he instinctively felt like he needed shoring up in another way first – he needed to be buttressed by Ezra’s love and faith in him, as much as he needed to marshal his magical resources. Both were equally important to his survival.

“Not really,” Crowley said, setting his glass down and nuzzling in closer. “I had something else in mind, actually.” He leaned in and untied the drawstring of Ezra’s tunic, allowing him access to the hollow of Ezra’s throat. “Something along these lines,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on what was definitely one of his ten favorite spots.

Ezra made a happy noise deep in his throat. “Once again, my dear, we seem to be on the same track.”

“It’s remarkable,” Crowley murmured, shoving fabric aside to move his way to a clavicle. “It’s like we share a single brain.”

Ezra coiled his fingers through Crowley’s hair and pulled him up for a kiss, and further conversation came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be an action chapter but the characters had a lot of things to say. So enjoy a nice, quiet little break in the action for the time being, and we will be back into the maelstrom next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	17. The Six Shields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Griane set about dismantling the monolith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, and a hard one. Trigger warning for minor (and slightly less minor) character death. But not our boys, promise.

“Must you do this?” Ezra said, pacing worriedly around the bedroom. “It sounds insanely dangerous.”

Crowley paused in the midst of donning a leather tunic that would offer him improved protection over his usual thin silks. “It is, and I must,” he said. “You know this as well as I do.”

“I do, I do,” Ezra said, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Can’t I come along? I’m sure I could be of some help.”

“You absolutely cannot,” Crowley said grimly. “And if you take that as even the slightest hint of an invitation to do so anyway, let me be very clear – my entire job today is to keep my sister alive and stop her from destroying any part of the realm with the power she’s going to be channeling. If you’re there too, I won’t be able to do either of those things because I will be too focused on ensuring no harm comes to _you_.”

Ezra grimaced. That was ridiculously hard to argue with, but he was sure that, given a moment, he could come up with something.

Crowley walked over and took Ezra’s face in both of his hands. His golden eyes were intent and glittering. "Tell me you understand this, Ezra,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “I must know you won’t countermand me today.”

Ezra sighed. “Of course I won’t. Have I not been well behaved since the portal incident?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You have.”

“Well then,” Ezra said with a little displeased flounce. “I’m certainly trying.”

Crowley leaned down and kissed him gently. “I know. I appreciate it.”

He let go to begin strapping on a large, black belt.

“Can I watch?” Ezra said. “The way you watched when Stavixx’s people were there?”

Crowley frowned. He wasn’t sure he wanted Ezra watching if things went badly wrong, but he supposed it was the best way to keep him firmly in the Dark Keep and out of trouble, whatever his intentions.

“I suppose,” he said reluctantly, digging around in a small chest in his wardrobe for a seeing stone. “Talk to Ligur and give him this -- he can get you set up in the records room.”

\--

The initial groundwork had been done by their advance guards – nine large and powerful talismans placed around the base of the hill under which the cavern lay, each shaped like a large spear with a crystal point. They were embedded firmly in the ground with their points angling up and inward, ready to be activated. Armed guards stood by each of them, swords drawn, and bowmen hid in the tree line to protect them further.

Crowley and Griane dismounted at the first plinth and took a moment of quiet contemplation.

“Ready, sis?” Crowley said.

Griane nodded, and together they stepped towards the first talisman, touching it with both their hands at once. A deep thrum rent the air and a beam of light arced up and over the hill, towards the summit.

“One,” Griane said.

“Eight more.”

At the ninth and final point, they stepped inside the almost completed dome they’d formed. Crowley nodded to the pair of women guarding the last talisman.

“Be careful,” he said. “Stay your post. We will return here when it’s completed.”

Griane took his hand and together they activated the last of the markers, and the dome of light the nine crystals had created sealed itself closed like a zipper, ground to peak, enclosing them inside a space that was now eerily silent.

With a last look at the now muted outside world, they entered the cavern and began their descent.

\--

After a few minutes of walking, they reached the large antechamber with its pools of green, murky water. Griane snapped and several large orbs of light floated into the air above them, illuminating their surroundings. As they had observed when Stavixx’s team entered, the cave was immense and dank, surrounded by openings of various sizes.

Crowley crinkled his nose in disgust at the smell – it reeked of fetid water and damp moss and decay. 

Their attention was immediately drawn to the largest of the caverns. Even if they hadn’t known their destination, the blue light and teeth-chattering hum of it would have given it away immediately.

“It’s time,” Griane said. “Are you ready?”

Crowley nodded, stepping back to give her a little more room as she prepared to shed her physical corporation and take on a more ethereal form that would allow her easier access to the primal magics at work here. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before. They’d literally been created together, in the garden, and grown together through their fledgling stages before they knew how to change form. Still, he watched in fascination as Griane drew her attention and power deep within herself and began to transform into something new.

Her physical body shimmered and was gone, and what was left in front of him was a creature of fog and light, vaguely woman-shaped, of shifting colors and depths. Crowley noted that she revealed a glimpse of having slightly more limbs than her mortal form supported, and the suggestion of a carapace of glittering copper, but as soon as he focused on any one part of it, the feature dissolved back into the mist and was indistinguishable. His physical eyes were failing him, and with a sigh, he set out to follow suit, transforming himself similarly into a shape that was more smoke than substance, although shimmering with the sensation of scales and the occasional hint of a long, sinuous body that bent in ways his physical form was not capable of reproducing.

“Ah, that feels good,” he hissed, stretching out into the space around them.

“It’s been far too long.”

“It has.”

In their true forms, it was easier to access the old magics; the threads of creation and destruction on which the realm was based. In fact, these threads were now visible to them as strands of vapor, swirling through the cavern like wispy rope. Most of them were insubstantial, but they both immediately noted one larger thread running through the watery lake and into the blue-sheathed chasm where the monolith awaited them.

Their eyes met in acknowledgment, and they walked into the blue doorway to gaze up at the monolith.

A cloaked figure stepped out from the dark corners of the cavern to greet them.

\-- 

Ezra was beyond nervous -- he was jumping out of his skin with worry. It didn’t take him long to track down Ligur and get his agreement to help, but he found the reasonable wait to be interminably long. To pass the time, he began flipping through a stack of books he’d brought with him.

One of them, he was surprised to discover, was Juliet’s notebook. He hadn’t realized he still had it when he came back to the Fae realm. Curious, he opened the cover and flipped through it until he reached the point where the material became more legible.

Most of them meant little to him, but as he flipped pages, he found a few that were quite intriguing.

_Two shall fall, two shall weep,  
and two will rend the worlds  
to find each other, though  
the world shake beneath them_

_\--_

_With six shields she will hold back the fall of the world  
With the seventh, she will cede._

_\--_

_One shall betray, one shall pass,  
and one shall leave of his own accord  
before the dark is brought to the frenzy of war._

Ezra looked up, shaken. The first one clearly sounded like it was about Juliet and Adam – but who were the two she mentioned who would fall? What were the six shields and did that one indicate that the world would be ending soon? And the last one – Beelzebub’s betrayal fit part of the bill, there, but he wasn’t sure what the rest of it meant. It all sounded ominous, and a little bit too close to reality for comfort.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Hastur and Ligur.

“Human,” Ligur said jovially. “Got a rock for me?”

Ezra stared at him.

“You know, seeing rock thingy? Hole in the middle?”

“Oh, of course,” Ezra said handing it over. Ligur pocketed it, winked at him, and went about fussing with something at the front of the room.

“Hello Ezra,” Hastur said, sitting next to him and peering at he was doing. “Oh, a book! Can I taste a page?”

“No!” Ezra snapped, closing Juliet’s notebook and pulling it towards him. Hastur blinked at him. “It’s – it’s not the kind of book made for eating,” he concluded lamely, trying to make up for his rudeness.

“All books are for eating,” Hastur muttered under his breath, but he accepted the rebuke as proper Unseelie interpersonal skills and settled happily down at the table.

Ezra cautiously went back to flipping through the notebook while he waited for Ligur to work his magic.

\--

“Who is it?” Crowley called to the shadowy figure. “Show yourself.”

The figure stepped forward and threw back their hood, revealing a familiar face. Mahogany skin, intent dark eyes, with a smatter of gold marks across both cheekbones, made to grace a smile but now accentuating the sneer the face wore instead.

“Your majesties,” a familiar voice said, lightly mocking.

“Uriel?” Crowley said, stepping forward. “What the fuck?”

Griane gestured him back and Crowley took a closer look, noted the faint blue glow edging Uriel’s form, and a thin blue line emerging from her back and leading back to the monolith.

“She’s connected to it in some way,” Griane said sotto voce. “Be careful.”

Uriel turned her gaze to Griane. “Always so observant, my lady,” she said. “And yet you somehow never notice that corruption around you.”

Griane’s form coiled and uncoiled, flowing from one shape into another. “I have been aware of your possible involvement for quite some time,” she said calmly. “You have been followed for several weeks.”

Uriel appeared unimpressed. “Oh, that seems very likely,” she snarled. “Like you’d just let me live if you knew I’d been behind it all.”

Crowley flexed his ethereal tail and let out a low hiss. “You’re not such a threat to us, Uriel, even with your big glowy rock behind you.”

Uriel raised a hand in his direction, almost bored, and called on the cord binding her to the monolith to release a shimmering flow of blue sparks at him. He stood his ground boldly as the sparks, unable to find anything solid to land on, passed through him and sputtered out on the damp stone floor.

That got her attention, and for the first time, a hint of doubt appeared in her eyes.

Griane stepped towards her. “Perhaps we can’t touch your monolith,” she said, “not in our physical forms. But my brother and I are far older than you, and we have forms and states of being of which you can’t even comprehend.”

Uriel backed up as Griane continued to advance. “If I let you be,” she continued, “it was not out of fondness. I was simply curious to determine who else you might be in contact with. Perhaps you are the one lacking in cleverness.”

“Stay back,” Uriel warned. “I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Crowley said. “You insignificant, pathetic, little…”

Uriel raised her hands in desperation and shot a bolt of light at the stony arch over their heads. It crumbled, sending down huge boulders in an unruly pile, burying completely the spot where Crowley and Griane had been standing.

All was silent for a moment, until a tendril of smoke began to rise out of the pile of rocks, followed by a tendril of fog. Both flowed to the edges of the rockfall and congealed back into the shapes they had been wearing before.

“As I was saying,” Crowley continued, “you are a sniveling, pathetic little sycophant who has decided to grab power that’s beyond your ability to wield.”

Uriel looked between them frantically and drew back towards the monolith. “You cannot destroy me, not while I’m channeling this.”

“Well then,” Griane said, manifesting both a number of arms and what looked like a large, blue sword, “we shall have to do something about that.”

And without further words, she swung the sword down and behind Uriel, not exactly severing the tendril, but disconnecting it from her body. The tendril hissed and sparked behind her for a moment before winding itself back up around the standing stone. Griane took advantage of the moment to seize Uriel by the throat, holding her a half meter off the ground as the blue glow faded away from the edges of her form. Suddenly Uriel was simply herself again, small and mortal looking in comparison to them, and bereft of any kind of confidence.

“What do you think, brother?” Griane said. “Creation, or destruction? Which shall it be?”

Crowley eyed them, considering the proper and most fitting punishment for their unruly subject. “Creation, I think. If she so loved her monolith, to the point of betraying her liege and all her oaths, then let her join it.”

“That seems fitting,” Griane said, as Uriel sputtered, trying to get words out around the iron grasp around her throat.

Crowley dug deep into his essence, accessing the power that let him raise buildings and hills, glaciers and forests, and channeled it at Uriel, who ceased her writhing and stammering and rose up to the rocky, uneven ceiling, where she shimmered and solidified into first a stone-like version of herself, and then coiled and condensed down into a glittering stalactite, dripping down for the length of a person like an icicle, and coming to a dangerous-looking point.

Crowley stood beneath it and examined it critically for a moment, then waved a hand to blunt the point and dull the shimmer, until it was indistinguishable from the surrounding rocks.

“Wouldn’t do for her to look too special,” he said to his sister. “Wouldn’t want some kind of _collector_ coming in to take an interest in her.”

Griane nodded. “Well done, brother.”

\--

“Got it!” Ligur said finally, after Ezra had waited what he estimated was something akin to four thousand hours. He stood up, adjusted his lapels proudly, and flicked a hand at a patch of bare wall, which resolved into an oval-shaped picture. It was blurry and misshapen for a moment and Ezra stood up and peered at it crossly, trying to get it to come into focus.

“I can’t see anything!” he complained. “Can’t you, you know, adjust the antenna or something?”

Both Hastur and Ligur looked at him strangely, then Ligur whapped himself on the forehead (narrowly missing the front claw of his chameleon, who hissed slightly in affront), and pulled the seeing stone out of his pocket.

“Forgot,” he said. “It needs to be activated.”

He held it up, slotted it somehow into the image that was floating in midair, and – whatever he’d done, it worked. The image became clear, just in time to watch as someone or something walked over to examine a large stalactite that was hanging from the right side of the ceiling near the monolith.

“Who is that?” Ezra said. “It almost looks like Crowley but it’s all blurry. Is the seeing rock in the right place?”

“No,” Hastur said, “that’s the boss. ‘e just looks like that sometimes.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Ezra said sarcastically, then he took a closer look. He had to admit, the rest of the screen was in sharp focus, just not the two spots he assumed were Crowley and his sister.

Griane was a larger, lighter swirl, changing form from one shape to another. Ezra swore for a moment he saw a shape like a large insect of some kind, then the multiple legs of that resolved into something looked more like the traditional images he’d seen on Earth of ancient Indian gods, with multiple arms holding elegant poses, and then a head that held only the barest suggestion of humanity turned and looked directly at him, through the screen.

It turned and said something to the cloud of smoke at its side and Ezra watched as the smoke manifested a snakelike head, turned to look directly at them as well, and then nodded in a way that struck Ezra as being charming, almost insouciant.

Definitely Crowley then.

He sat back, arms crossed over his chest, and watched. He tried to ignore it as Hastur and Ligur pulled a vat of popcorn out of some kind of temporal pocket and settled in beside him.

\--

“Your human has connected,” Griane said, turning to him as he backed away from the stalactite.

“He – what? Oh.” Crowley turned and peered at the area Griane was indicating. He couldn’t see anything, but he did somehow sense that they now had an audience. “Gave him a seeing stone,” he said sheepishly.

Griane glared at him.

“Well?? At least it ensures that he isn’t going to blunder his way in here out of worry or a desire to know what’s going on. And Hastur and Ligur are watching with him, keeping an eye on him.”

“Oh, wonderful, the duke and marquis of idiocy are watching your impulsive lover,” she said wryly.

“Oh shaddup,” Crowley growled. “Don’t we have better things to do than argue?”

She stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. “We do.”

They turned to the monolith and Griane began a low, solemn chant.

\--

Crowley could feel the strings of ancient, deadly power coiling around his sister as she focused her attentions on the monument in front of them. He stepped up beside her and looked around with all fourteen of his senses, noting what things he could see in his truest form that were hidden to him in day to day life.

The monolith, viewed from this perspective, wasn’t so much a large rock as it was a giant, writhing ball of power draped over an enormous rock. Seven blue tendrils emerged from the floor of the cavern, winding around it in a continuous sheath until they reached its tip. Six of them were thinner, and one was significantly larger than the others.

The glyphs that he had noted earlier on the surface of the rockface were nearly hidden beneath them – from what he could now make out, they were some form of binding, holding the tendrils and focusing their power on the spaces between their worlds. Erasing the glyphs was impossible while the tendrils were in place. They’d simply have to begin by removing them.

Griane’s voice, when she spoke, was deeper and reverberated around the cavern. “I will release them from the monolith one by one,” she said. “You must shield each strand as I do --”

“--or it will detonate, yesss, I’m aware,” Crowley said, slipping into the hiss his voice tended to take on when he was extremely stressed.

This was insanely dangerous, he knew. You couldn’t create or destroy this type of magical strand; you couldn’t unmake it or shift it or pulverize it. What Griane was attempting to do was to simply release them from their bonds and channel them back to their source; but doing so held a risk of an almost elemental explosion as the basic building blocks of their world were manipulated artificially. He’d read about atom bombs in Ezra’s books and knew what happened when you split something called an atom. He would have to shield them with everything in his power to withstand the forces they were about to generate.

Griane chose one of the smallest to try first. She followed its path down the monolith until she located the first place that it touched the stone, and then she focused her power into a tight, concentrated wedge.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice far away.

“Ready,” he said, drawing on his own powers to curl a smoky shield around the tendril Griane was focusing on. Griane shaped the wedge of light between her hands, leaned down, and drove it hard into the base of the tendril.

There was a massive blast as the tendril peeled away from the stone, and Crowley and Griane were thrown back towards the rock pile that now blocked the entrance.

\--

“What happened?” Ezra shouted. “What was that?”

From their perspective, very little was happening. Crowley and Griane, vaporous and indistinct, appeared to mostly be talking quietly to each other, then they both leaned close to the rock for a moment before getting blown back across the room.

“Dunno,” Hastur said, “something we can’t see, looks like. Powers, you know.”

Ligur helped himself to another handful of popcorn. “Massive powers, those two. There’s a reason they’re in charge, you know.”

Ezra glared at both of them, then at the popcorn bowl, until Hastur pulled it protectively against his chest.

 _Help them,_ he thought, to whatever powers might be listening. _Help them with whatever this is._

\--

Ethereal injuries didn’t feel quite like physical injuries. Pain wasn’t quite the same when one was free of a body; it was less focused, more widespread, and tended to last longer, once invoked. There was nothing to rub to make the pain lessen, for a start. You couldn’t limp to ease the burden on a damaged limb; you couldn’t stretch a muscle that didn’t exist or roll your shoulders determinedly to bring your focus back to the task at hand.

Being formless, the rock pile they were thrown against didn’t injure them, but the release of sheer power sizzled through them, leaving them both feeling concussed and battered. Crowley recovered first, gathering up his form and reshaping it, then looked around him to find Griane. She was putting herself back together in the corner behind him.

“Did it work?” she asked.

He spun around to check. The monolith now showed gaps in its solid blue sheath of power. He circled it carefully, counting, and found six strands, not seven, feeding into it. The sixth had disappeared, and the cavern was still standing.

“It did,” he said with a fierce grin. “Nice work, sis.”

She grinned back. “Ok, then, let’s get on with the next one.”

\--

By the time they had released the fifth tendril, neither of them was grinning any longer. Crowley felt a level of bone-deep fatigue he hadn’t felt in years, but he was especially worried about Griane, who was taking longer and longer to reform and no longer looked quite intact when she did. She appeared ragged around the edges, as if the periphery between her form and the air around them was becoming indistinct. They’d also had one additional rockfall in the back of the cavern, and a large piece from the top of the monolith had cracked off and slid to the cavern floor, shattering on impact.

Two left, Crowley thought.

“Should we stop?” he asked as Griane finally rejoined him after the latest blast. “Get some rest, come back tomorrow?”

Griane shook her head, relentless in her focus. “We can’t,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “They will all reform if we leave any one of them in place.”

“Oh shit,” Crowley said, understanding dawning on him. Unfortunately, this was an all or nothing proposition. “Still, I’m worried about you.”

She nodded, not even bothering to argue. “Let’s finish it, then.”

\--

By now, Ezra and his companions had figured out the outline of what was happening. Crowley and Griane were painstakingly dismantling something they couldn’t see, at what appeared to be a high cost. Each successive operation (Ezra counted five so far) appeared to result in some kind of energy wave that shook the cavern, loosened rocks, and knocked both of the siblings off of their feet. The falling rocks didn’t seem to pose any danger to them, as Ezra was sure he’d by now seen at least several boulders pass directly through one or the other of them, but nonetheless, both of them looked ragged. Surely they must be almost done?

Five, Ezra thought, something about that niggling at the back of his thought processes. Five. Why did that seem significant?

Crowley and Griane started moving again, and Ezra curled his hands into fists, driving his nails into his palm so fiercely that he almost drew blood. He watched them set up with movements that were by now familiar – Griane appearing to hold something he couldn’t see in front of herself, Crowley swooping around near the monolith looking like he was wrapping or cushioning something equally invisible, and then Griane again drove down with all her might as if she were pushing a shovel deep into the ground.

The reaction was the same. Crowley and Griane fell backwards, their foggy outlines dispersing temporarily, and a corner of the cavern across from them all but collapsed, sheets of rock sliding down to crumble on the ground. Dust rose and clouded their view for a few minutes and Ezra leaned forward, barely breathing, imagining how they must be coughing and choking in that dust. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the dust began to settle, and for a few excruciating beats of his heart, nothing moved on screen.

From his peripheral vision, he could see that even Hastur and Ligur had stopped moving and were watching intently, popcorn forgotten.

Finally, a wisp congealed in the remaining dust, then rose and reformed into a shape that Ezra knew to be Crowley, mostly from its dark color and sinuous shape. It wavered a bit, then formed more firmly. Somehow, in a way he couldn’t account for, Ezra knew he was seeing Crowley’s fatigue.

“Yes!” Ligur shouted. “He’s back!”

He and Hastur high fived. “That’s six!” Hastur shouted.

“How many are there?” Ezra asked. “Do you know?”

“Well, er,” Hastur said. “Not really. But magical things usually follow certain patterns. Three of something, or seven, or nine. Sometimes thirteen.”

“Odd numbers,” Ligur confirmed. “Never even.”

“Hope it’s seven and not thirteen,” Hastur said, sounding worried

 _Seven,_ he thought. Why was that important? He looked around helplessly and then spotted Juliet’s notebook, which set off a warning bell. What had he read? He picked it up and began flipping through it madly, trying to find the section he had been looking at before.

_With six shields she will hold back the fall of the world  
With the seventh, she will cede._

“Oh shit,” Ezra said. “Something’s going to happen. Right now. Can you get me there?”

Hastur and Ligur looked at him like he’d sprouted an extra head. “What, like into the cavern, right now?” Hastur said. “You lost your mind, human?”

“That’s rather exactly what I mean, actually!”

“Sure, we’ll just – I dunno, pop you over there via portal, then slip you right through that gigantic dome they raised to keep everything and everyone out, and then sneak you in all quiet-like through the front opening and get you to the cavern,” Ligur drawled, “all in the next five seconds. No problem, Ezra, easy work for a couple of talented blokes like us.”

Ezra raised his voice. “I don’t care how hard it is. I’m telling you, something bad is happening! I need to get there!”

He saw movement on screen. Too late.

\--

Only the last and the largest of the tendrils remained, wrapped tightly around the remaining portions of the monolith, which now showed large swaths of bare stone. Crowley and Griane examined, then Crowley reached out and grasped her hand in his, trying to mentally give her some of his strength for the last of the process.

Griane smiled at him as. she released his hand. “Brother,” she said. “Your help is appreciated.”

She took a deep breath, carefully centered herself, and once more formed the wedge of light she was using to break the threads of power free from their stony prison. Another deep breath, and she brought it down upon the base of the monolith with all her strength.

She was immediately caught. The tendril was so thick that her hand descended into it up to the wrist, and she glanced up at Crowley wide-eyed as she realized she could not free herself.

Crowley threw a protective bubble up around her, trying to seal her away from harm, but he couldn’t fully close the circle, not with her hand embedded in the blue light. The hum of the monolith deepened, and the room began to shake as the blue glow of the tendril began to slowly inch its way up her arm. He ran through several powerful banishing spells, trying to hurl it off her, but nothing seemed to work.

Griane closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to coalesce into another form and escape – but something about the touch of it prevented her from turning to fog and drifting to safety. Her edges wavered, but the part of her that was held by the blue light seemed to solidify before their eyes until bit by bit, she was no longer ethereal, but corporeal again, at least in part.

Crowley ran to her side and knelt, readying to grab hold of her and pull – but her eyes snapped open just as he reached for her.

“No!” she shouted. “Don’t touch me or it will have us both!”

He rocked back on his heels, unsure of what to do next. Rocks began to fall all around them, and he noticed cracks running up the monolith.

“Griane,” he yelled, enlarging the bubble so that they were both protected inside it. “We’ve got to get out of here! I’ll transport us both, we can just slide you out of its grip and leave it here!”

“No!” she said. “I can hold it until it’s inside me fully and then take it apart!”

“That will _kill_ you,” he hissed. “You can’t mean to –”

“I know very well what that means,” she snarled back at him, although her eyes belied her anger. “I don’t need my little brother to tell me what’s a stake here.”

The solidification continued – both her arms and her legs were corporeal now, and the transformation was continuing up her torso. He watched for a moment, helpless, then threw his hands up to reinforce the barrier he’d created as another huge portion of the rock walls caved in around them.

“Griane –” he pleaded, his voice nearly breaking. “Please. Let me get you out of here. We can come back another time and do this again, when – when we’re a little better organized. Better prepared. We – we’ll do more research. It doesn’t have to –”

Her eyes, a cool silver, met his and held them as the foggy silhouette of her hair and face and neck solidified into flesh again. “Brother,” she said softly. “I feel it inside me. I can close this now, and we will be done with it. The realm will be safe. Go. Go back to safety while I complete my task.”

“I won’t leave you, you inconsiderate egomaniac” he growled, willing her to hear him and know the truth of it. If he knew anything, he knew her weak spots. “If you are determined to let this take you, know you’re taking me down too.”

She searched his eyes and nodded. “I believe you,” she said.

“Good, so let’s go,” he said, turning in a circle to scratch a symbol into the floor, beginning the preparatory measures for an emergency trip out.

Griane stood as much as the grip of the monolith allowed and pulled her dignity around her like a cloak, looking every inch the regal queen she had been for so many millennia.

“Crowley,” she said, her voice once again calm. He looked up to meet her silvery eyes, which appeared slightly wet. Her voice, when she spoke, was tender. “Mo sheacht mbeannacht ort, grādh.” *

He had just enough time to open his mouth in protest before she raised a hand, waved it casually and with seemingly no effort at all, and the world around him went dark.

\--

Ezra watched through the viewing portal as the cavern and the hill around it crumbled in on itself. For a moment, they watched the rock fall and cover the area where Griane and Crowley had been standing, and then the image cut out, no longer able to focus on the creatures it had been set up to view.

“What the –” Ezra shouted, jumping up so quickly that he knocked a chair over. “Did he – did they –” he looked around wildly, as Hastur and Ligur stared back at him, both looking pale and shocked. “Are they –”

“I couldn’t tell if they got out,” Ligur said. “I think they did?”

“Couldn’t see,” Hastur added. “So much rock.”

Ligur smacked him in the shoulder. “Not helping.”

Ezra paced the room wildly. “He had to have gotten out, right? Both of them did. Of course they got out.” He paced another rapid circle around the table, picked up the seeing stone which was now lying on the floor, and examined it carefully. “Can you restart this?”

“No, mate,” Ligur said gently. “They have to recharge, after they’ve been used. It’s the only one we have access to.”

Ezra walked over and grabbed him by the lapels and brought their faces very close together. “Do you know where this cavern is?”

Ligur swallowed. “Well, yes, I think so. Been there once.”

Ezra gave him one more shake. “You two are taking me there, right bloody now. Is that clear? Not via chariot, not on a firesteed, you are taking me to a portal, and you are transporting me there right this absolute instant.”

“I’m not sure that’s –” Hastur interjected from behind him, and Ezra pushed Ligur away and rounded on Hastur, baring his teeth.

“I don’t bloody care,” he yelled. “We are going, or I will take you apart, piece by piece!”

Hastur held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said, grudging admiration in his voice. “Okay, okay. Best portal’s in your lordship’s place, though.”

“Fine,” Ezra said. “Follow me.”

\--

Ezra emerged from the portal into the edges of the forest and immediately was hit with a fit of coughing at the dust and muck still in the air. The dome had fallen, ripped apart when the hill fell in on itself. Ezra stepped towards the edges of it and stared down into the smoking rubble of what now appeared like a giant sinkhole – just standing looking into the enormous crater made him a little dizzy.

Shaking his head, he drew himself back to the present. He could gawk at the remains of the hill later – right now he needed to find Crowley.

He grabbed a guard. “Where is the Prince?” he asked, quiet and urgent. The woman shrugged, looking genuinely concerned. He moved to the next person down the line, repeating his question with increasing intensity. Hastur and Ligur trailed after him, quietly asking whoever he didn’t.

Ezra had just collared another hapless guard when Hastur dashed up to him.

“Got a lead on ‘im,” Hastur murmured. “This way.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ezra said, hurrying after him.

Hastur led him halfway around the edges of the destruction zone to what had been the location of the last pylon in the security perimeter. Ezra could see a small figure kneeling at the edge of the crater, a handful of guards standing around him, facing out. They kept a respectful distance away, but were clearly in defensive postures, weapons out and focused on the surroundings.

“Crowley!” he shouted, rushing up to the guards, who looked him over and then parted to let him through. Hastur stopped to speak with them, and he overheard him telling the guards to admit no one else.

The figure at the edge of the crater didn’t turn, or move, or even, as far as Ezra could see, breathe.

“Crowley?” he said more gently, coming up beside him. He knelt down next to him and waited for some kind of acknowledgment. When it didn’t come, he reached out to lay a hand on Crowley’s knee, trying to avoid startling him.

Crowley flinched at the contact, but it did break his concentration, and he looked up to meet Ezra’s gaze with eyes blown wide with grief.

“Ezra?” he croaked, hoarse. Ezra noted the gray pallor of his face, the dirt and soot coating every inch of his skin, and the utter determination in every line of his being.

“Yes, I’m here,” Ezra said, taking his hand and holding it. “Are you okay?”

Crowley stared helplessly at him, then turned his gaze back to the rubble before him. “I’m fine. She’s fine. She’ll be out any second. Just watch for the fog.”

Ezra stared at him, heart in his throat. “Do you think so?” he said quietly.

“Of course. Just taking her a while to reform this time.” Crowley swallowed. “It was taking her a lot longer, the last few rounds. She just needs more time.”

“Well then,” Ezra said, scooting a little closer to him. “I’ll wait with you.”

“Thanks,” Crowley said, sounding gutted. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be here.”

\--

An hour passed, then two. Crowley, preternaturally still, kept his eyes trained on the rubble, waiting for a wisp of fog that Ezra suspected was never going to come.

“How –” he said, startling Crowley into another flinch. “How did you get out, my love? We couldn’t see what happened at the end.”

Crowley licked his lips and looked sick. “She – she was absorbing the last tendril of power, so we could destroy the rock, and she got –” he took a shallow, shaky breath. “She got stuck. And when I tried to teleport her away, she wouldn’t let me, because it would have undone all of our work, and we would have had to start completely over. So, I told her that if she was staying to the death, so was I.” 

Ezra nodded, feeling slightly nauseated himself. “And then what happened?”

Crowley blinked hard. “She – she said she believed me. And then – she transported me out in the last moment before the cavern collapsed.” He frowned. “Against my will. Stupid bloody idiot. Took the full brunt of the collapse herself. I was _shielding her_ , Ezra. We might have made it.”

“Might?” Ezra said weakly.

“She held it back,” he moaned. “She protected me, and she sent me out, and the whole thing fell on top of her. She wasn’t even in her ethereal form any more, she was back in her physical body.”

Ezra swallowed. “Oh, love,” he murmured.

They sat and watched as the light began to dim. The dust was beginning to settle, and around them the birds began to sing their evening songs in the trees. Ezra stayed where he was, determined to see this through, however long it took.

Finally, just as the light was fading, Crowley stirred and turned his way. “She was corporeal when it fell,” he repeated dully. “She’s not coming out, is she?”

“I don’t think so,” Ezra said.

Crowley took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “What do we do?” he asked quietly.

Ezra stood and held out a hand to him. “Let’s go home, my dear.”

Crowley considered for a moment, then reached out and took it. Time to let the realm know their prince was still alive, and to go home to bind his many wounds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * What Griane says to him, in Gaelic, before sending him away, translates to "My seven blessings on you."
> 
> Are you all still reading? I hope so. :) I realize this has become an epic of almost unmanageable proportions. I comfort myself by reminding myself that one of my favorite fanfic works of all time is 80 chapters long and something like a million words. And that last night I sat and happily read a brand new chapter from my current favorite ongoing story that was like 10K long and was happy to do it. So I hope you're bearing with me! 
> 
> I'm only at a quarter million (words, not dollars, I wish) so far, and only if you combine the two Faeted stories. 125kish and counting. 
> 
> I do promise, though, that we are almost to the end of part two. Just a little bit more. Two chapters, I think. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading, and for those of you who comment. I write this story out of intense love for these characters and it's my first real, novel-length, take-over-your-brain-for-four-months-straight work, as well as the most intricate plot I've ever attempted to bring to life, and sometimes it's exhilarating and the most fun I've ever had in my life, and sometimes it's scary and hard and incredibly exhausting. Anyways, your encouragement and thoughts and kudos and comments keep me going! :)


	18. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra nurtures Crowley as he comes back to himself, Crowley takes control of his court, and on Earth, the ladies begin exploring who Juliet is and how Adam's life has changed.

Ezra helped Crowley out of his leather armor as gently as he could, then eased his boots off while the terrible dark prince of the Unseelie Court sat on the edge of his bed with the docile demeanor of a child. This worried Ezra more than he cared to admit. He was used to his lover’s many wild and varied emotions – he’d even come to enjoy most of them. But this blankness? This was new.

“You’re cold,” Ezra said, clasping Crowley’s hands between his. “Let me run you a bath.”

Crowley nodded dumbly and continued to stare, and Ezra left him alone for a moment to go into the enormous ensuite and start filling the tub. He pored through an assortment of bottles until he found one with a scent that he thought suited Crowley best -- Jasmine, tobacco, and something darker, like a distant hint of brimstone. Whatever it was, it made him feel calm and warm and he hoped it would have the same effect on his partner. He added a generous pour.

The Prince let himself be led to the bathroom and placed into the tub, where he sat curled up with his chest to his knees, rather than leaning back expansively in his usual pose. Ezra tutted, then found himself a cloth and began carefully washing Crowley’s back.

Crowley allowed it, but he said nothing.

Ezra carefully loosened the leather band holding Crowley’s braid together and let his fiery hair fall down into the bathwater. He selected another bottle he knew held shampoo and poured some of the fragrant oil into his hands, then worked them through the long, ropy locks. His nimble fingers began massaging the suds into Crowley’s scalp, and finally, finally Crowley loosened his limbs a little.

“There you are,” Ezra said softly.

Crowley blinked at him. “Ezra?”

“I’m here,” he said. “Let me help.”

“Why’re you dressed?” Crowley croaked. “You should be in here with me.”

Even the depths of despair, Ezra thought, couldn’t change someone’s essential nature. Nonetheless, he saw his point, and he quickly disrobed and climbed in behind him, cradling Crowley between his legs as the warm water covered them both.

Crowley leaned back and rested his head on Ezra’s shoulder. “Safe now,” he said.

“That’s right,” Ezra said. “I’ve got you.”

They stayed until the water grew cold.

\--

Crowley seemed to be returning to himself a little more with each passing moment. After a long bath and a hot meal, he looked up at Ezra, much more alert.

“I can’t stay in here much longer, you know,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted.

“I know.” Ezra did know. With the state of Fae politics, Crowley had already taken a dangerously long time to assert himself after the incident at the cavern. His sister’s throne lay dangerously vacant, and he had already learned that the slightest power vacuum in the Fae realms tended to produce dangerous and unpredictable results.

Crowley took a long sip of wine, clearly fortifying himself. “I have to make an appearance, very soon, or things are going to spiral out of control.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Reassert my dominance with the Unseelie court. Prevent the Seelie court from spiralling into factions as everyone and their cousin tries to take the throne.”

“Oh, so nothing much then,” Ezra said, earning a snort of amusement from Crowley. He frowned, more seriously. “How are you going to achieve that? With your sister’s court, I mean?”

“I’m not sure, but I need to get started,” Crowley said grimly. “Will you help?”

Ezra tried to hide how pleased he was by the request. “Of course. What can I do?”

Crowley grinned. “You can start by helping me pick out my most intimidating outfit.”

“Spikes and chains then?”

“You got it.”

\--

“So, how are you two both feeling?” Anathema asked as she carried a tray full of sandwiches into the living room and handed everyone a plate. She settled into the rocking chair closest to the fire and smiled as a small black kitten immediately claimed her lap. 

Juliet looked contemplative. “We are… getting acquainted. I find myself remembering more things. I don’t know how I forgot them.” She looked at Adam. “How I’d forgotten you. I’m so sorry, Adam.”

Adam swallowed. “You didn’t know I existed, so how could you have tried to find me?”

“I should have done, anyways.”

“Juliet,” Anathema said carefully. “Your mind has been compromised for quite some time, not just since Adam was born. The Fae world apparently has a very detrimental effect on humans if they stay too long.”

“And Lord Bee? Did they know this?”

“From what Ezra said, they did not, not until it had progressed too far,” Anathema said. “Ezra said Beelzebub and Crowley tried for decades to heal you.”

Juliet nodded. “I remember bits of that,” she said. “They did not mean to harm me.”

“No,” Anathema said.

“And yet, they took my child away.”

“Beelzebub did, yes.”

This obviously stung, whatever Beelzebub’s reasons. Anathema watched Juliet’s face as a quick flurry of emotions passed over it, never quite settling on one reaction. She couldn’t imagine trying to reconcile such an idea to the person you loved.

“They did it to protect me, I think,” Adam said. “I mean, I’ve had a pretty good life here. Roaming the woods, going to school, running with my friends in the summers. No one trying to kill me.”

Juliet smiled. “I am happy to hear it.”

“But now that I know, it’s hard to figure out what comes next,” Adam said, munching on a cucumber sandwich. “What do I do from here?”

“We will help you,” Anathema said. “You have a lot of allies.”

“And my dad?” he asked. “What do we tell him? He won’t understand this.”

Anathema frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “But Adam, he’s still your father, even if it’s more of an adoptive relationship than a genetic one. He raised you and did a good job of it.”

“I know,” Adam said, “and I don’t want to upset him. Maybe we can just keep this to ourselves, for now?”

“We will do as you say,” Juliet said soothingly.

Anathema turned to Juliet. “And what do you think you might want to do?” she asked.

“I think I’d like to stay on Earth,” she said shyly, “if that’s all right. For a while. And with Beez imprisoned, there’s no one for me to go back to in Fae. I’d like to spend more time with Adam, and you.”

“You can remain as long as you like,” Anathema said. “You’re very welcome to stay here in the cottage with me.”

Juliet smiled. “Thank you, my friend. Adam, is it all right with you if I stay close?”

Adam grinned. “You bet.”

\--

The throne room was nearly full when Prince Crowley swept into it, and the immediate hush that fell over the room was intensely gratifying. Ezra followed him closely, staying a few feet behind, and watched as the prince stopped at the top of the dais, slowly surveying the room with an impenetrable impression, before sitting down regally in his seat.

A small blue creature scurried up to him and handed him the regalia of office – in this case, a scepter, topped with a large black gem. Lord Crowley twirled it once, making sure to let the firelight flicker off it into every corner, and then thumped the ground with the base of it. Anyone who was still daring to talk fell silent at that gesture.

“Creatures of the Unseelie Court!” Crowley said, his voice booming to every corner of the chamber. “As you can see, I am alive and well and returned unharmed from our recent mission. Those who say otherwise have been spreading the foulest of lies and will be dealt with accordingly.”

The crowd cheered his health.

He stood, brandishing the scepter. “I am pleased to report to you that the portals are now safe – we have identified not one but two forces that were destabilizing the ways between realms, and both have been neutralized. You may travel safely again within the strictures of our law.”

More cheering.

“Furthermore,” the prince continued, turning his stern eye to the far corners of the room, making each and every creature present feel like he noted and accounted for their presence and reaction, “it is my solemn duty to report that the stories of the Lady Griane’s demise are true. She lost her life in the mission to free us from the powerful magics of a few traitors.”

Mutters and gasps filled the room.

“Until such a time as she may return to us,” he continued. “The governance of the Seelie Realm falls to me by right of succession. I intend to assume that burden immediately.”

Fascinated murmurs filled the room. Unseelie now ruled over the Shining Court? This was interesting news.

“With this dire threat eliminated, I intend to focus on rooting out any remaining rebellion and dealing with it in the harshest of terms, and in ensuring that my sister’s court falls in line as well.” Lord Crowley concluded. “I expect your fealty, your allegiance, and your obedience now as at all times.”

Massive cheers broke out.

Crowley sat down and indicated that he would now begin hearing petitions. Ezra gestured to the closest servant to bring wine, and he brought the flagon to Crowley himself. He accepted it with a quick glance of gratitude, then his gaze hardened into his ruling façade as he turned back to the room at large.

Only Ezra could see the exhaustion in the lines of his back and the stiffness with which he held his head aloft, hiding his pain and worry behind the reins of power.

\--

After two hours of dealing with inquiries, complaints, and renewed oaths of fealty in his usual gruff, haughty manner, Crowley called over his steward and allowed him to announce that petitions would be continued the next day. A long line of courtiers still waiting looked disappointed, but a stern look from the prince kept their tongues stilled.

He stalked off the dais with his back ramrod straight, and pulled Ezra into their private alcove behind it, where they were safe from prying eyes. As soon as they were alone, Crowley threw a quick shield around them and pulled Ezra into his embrace.

“Ow,” Ezra complained, maneuvering carefully around the sharp black spikes on the shoulders of the tunic they’d chosen earlier. “Careful dear.”

“Oh, sorry,” Crowley murmured, shifting him carefully so he was in no mortal danger. “God that was exhausting.”

“You did well, my love,” Ezra said. “Everyone looked thoroughly impressed. I don’t think there will be any doubts about your continued ability to rule.”

Crowley nodded. “Shouldn’t be. Should even raise my stature among them all, if anything – surviving, taking over Seelie. They’re a power-hungry crew.”

Ezra cupped a hand around Crowley’s face. “Can you get some rest now?”

Crowley wavered for a moment but then steeled himself. “Not yet,” he said. “Need to meet with my council. You head back, though, and I’ll join you for supper in a few hours.”

Ezra leaned in and kissed him tenderly. “Take care of yourself,” he said gently.

\--

The days passed quietly on Earth, deep in the late days of autumn. Most evenings, Adam came by to visit or have dinner, but during the day they read and walked and led a simple life, while Juliet returned to fuller health. The air grew colder, the plants bent their energy to seed, and the earliest hint of frost began to appear on the meadow behind the cottage in the mornings, highlighting the footsteps that Juliet left when she went out for her daily walk in the fields and woodlands.

Anathema watched her closely at first, but soon relaxed as she realized that Juliet was, indeed, finding some measure of peace. She had almost entirely stopped talking in rhymes, and while she was often quiet and had a habit of staring into the distance for long periods of time, she seemed calmer and more clear-minded. She discovered an interest in botany, and often gathered plants and herbs that she recognized as she walked.

“Look, I found herrif,” she said one morning, holding out a basket she had filled with spiky-headed green plants.

“We call that burdock, now,” Anathema said, after examining them closely.

“Burdock,” Juliet said, trying out the name in her mouth. “Good for lepers, I think.”

“We don’t have much of that,” Anathema said, “but I can tell you about some other uses.”

“And I have rose hips from the wild roses in the meadow, for winter tea,” Juliet said. “Shall I make you some?”

Anathema smiled. “That would be lovely! My kitchen is yours.” 

Juliet put the basket down and wiped her hands on a towel, then happily set about getting to work.

\--

“How do you plan to run both courts?” Ligur said, bravely asking the question he knew all his counselors were wondering. Taking on Seelie was a massive job and might not be an entirely welcome move. “Do you plan to take it by force?”

“If needed,” Crowley said, “but I hope it won’t come to that. We’ve had more deaths lately than we have in the last century.”

The council was interrupted by a sudden buzzing sound followed by a pop as a small, winged figure that appeared to be mostly stick-like arms and legs, all bent at unnatural angles, materialized into being on top of the stone table in front of them. It blinked as it looked around the room, surprised to find so many sets of eyes fixed upon it, before locating its intended recipient.

“Greetings, Lord Crowley,” the creature said in its high, reedy voice, bending low at the waist. “I bring tidings of the Seelie court from your cousin the Lady Michael.”

Crowley examined the small creature disdainfully. Messenger imp. They were hardly ever used any longer because it was so terribly intrusive to materialize an agent unexpectedly in another’s court. The creature was no threat as its physical body was only half-materialized, but still, using one was considered archaic and rude.

“Yes?” he said imperiously.

The imp straightened up from its bow and dropped the scroll it carried, which shimmered and then materialized fully in their location and landed on the table with a solemn thunk.

“I have been instructed to wait for your reply, your majesty,” the imp said.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the imp was enclosed in a bubble which floated itself off to a far corner, near the ceiling, ensuring that the imp could neither see nor hear anything of its surroundings until he allowed it.

He looked around at his counsellors and then unrolled the scroll to begin reading. 

\--

“Bollocks!” Crowley exclaimed, dropping the scroll to the table. “The bloody arrogance of that sow!”

Azriel, Hastur, and Ligur looked at him with concern.

He tossed the scroll to Ligur. “Read it. Out loud.”

Ligur cleared his throat nervously and unrolled it.

“To my cousin, the Prince Crowley of the Unseelie Court,” he began, glancing up at the Prince, who nodded for him to continue.

> _I offer you my condolences on the loss of your sister and our Queen, the Lady Griane. As you might imagine, the news of her passage has rocked the Shining Court and led to various schemes and measures for the taking of her throne among the more factional members of the assembly._
> 
> _I have taken steps to ensure the safety and permanence of the crystal throne by assuming the role of regent to the Shining Court. I remain as loyal to the Lady Griane as I have ever been, and shall hold the seat faithfully for her until either her eventual return from the Shadow Realms, or the eventual decision by the higher authorities as to the disposition of her seat, per the laws of Fae governance._
> 
> _I notify you because of your role as Griane’s official next of kin, in the hopes that we can establish a peaceful transition of power to ensure the safe and prosperous functioning of both of our courts._

Ligur stopped and a crushing silence fell over the room.

“That’s… a bit presumptuous,” Hastur ventured.

“Oh, do you think?” Crowley thundered. “Who on earth does she think she is, helping herself to my sister’s throne?”

Azrael nodded. “I do believe her actions are technically illegal, in the eyes of the higher authorities.”

“Damn straight they are,” Crowley growled. “I won’t stand for it. By law, Griane’s seat passes to me as her next of kin.”

“We should respond strongly, my lord,” Azriel said unctuously. “A firm and forceful message.”

Crowley eyed the imp in the corner sourly, then snapped his finger to release it. It hovered for a moment, then made its way back to the table surface.

“Tell your master that I need to speak with her,” he snapped. “I will expect her scrye in my chambers in an hour. Now begone, before I flatten you like a bug!”

The imp looked a combination of unsurprised and intimidated, and disappeared immediately.

“What will you do?” Ligur asked.

“Take control of this situation,” Crowley said. “One way or another.”

\--

“She said what?” Ezra said, shocked.

“She assumed the throne in my sister’s name. To keep the peace.” Crowley’s jaw looked like it was clenched so hard it might crack.

Ezra poured a glass of something bubbly. “Drink this. Before she calls. You need to take the edge off.”

Crowley collapsed down onto the couch and stared into the fire in their bedroom. “I can’t believe this is all happening. I’ve lost my advisor and the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in this court, and now my sister is gone. I _think_ she’ll be back but there’s no way of really knowing, not yet. We’ve lost the conspirators, the soldiers that went to the cavern with Stavixx, and two high-ranking members of Griane’s court. All in a year.”

Ezra held his hand. “When you put it that way, it’s quite a lot.”

“It’s a lot no matter how you put it,” Crowley growled, but squeezed his hand in return. “It’s too much. We’re a long-lived people. We don’t have this many deaths in a century sometimes. Is it the curse?”

“What curse?”

“The bog witch’s curse?”

“It wasn’t a curse,” Ezra said, “so much as a prophecy.”

“Great change to the realm. Great instability.”

They both sat quietly for a moment. Ezra couldn’t help but think about how it all started when he came along. He tried to shake the thought but it dug in. His presence in the Fae realms seemed to be the initiating factor in a long period of unrest. Could that be more than mere happenstance?

There was no time to ask the question, though, because suddenly a loud chime rang out.

“Bloody hell, that will be Michael,” Crowley said, walking off to the desk in the corner to sit down to take the call.

Ezra stayed back out of sight but smiled as Crowley indicated for him to stay.

\--

“This is excellent,” Anathema said, taking a deep sip of Juliet’s rose hip tea. “Is that cinnamon I taste?”

“And honey,” Juliet said. “You must be so wealthy, to have so many herbs at your disposal.”

Anathema laughed. “Herbs aren’t considered precious anymore. Everyone has a little cinnamon in their cupboard.”

Juliet looked dubious. “I find that hard to believe. You were lucky to ever taste such a thing in my day.”

Anathema took another deep sip. “You remember that?”

Juliet blinked. “I do, actually. I remember something about my cupboard at home. I cooked on a fire, mostly. And, I think there was a cauldron, that I used to make medicines.”

“A wise woman?”

“Something of a witch, I suspect,” Juliet said.

Anathema smiled. “No wonder we get along.”

Juliet stared into the fire for a long moment. “I think I’d like to try to find out who I was,” she said. “Before all of this. I don’t even know my last name. Will you help me?”

“I’d be happy to,” Anathema said. “Let’s finish our tea, and then we will get out a map and do a little pendulum work to see if we can figure out where you lived.”

Juliet sipped her tea and looked contented.

\--

Crowley made a few quick preparations on the basin of water he kept on the desk and opened up the scrying window.

“Michael,” he said curtly.

Michael, impassive as ever, inclined her head at him. “Lord Crowley,” she said. “My deepest sympathies. I was sad to hear of what happened.”

Crowley looked unimpressed. “Were you? You hid it well, moving as quickly as you did to secure yourself the throne.”

Michael huffed. “You took two days to surface, your majesty. You have no idea what a whirlpool the Shining Court was turning into in those forty-eight hours.”

“You do realize,” Crowley said, “that by law the throne passes to me as Griane’s next and only kin?”

“I do,” Michael said, “but that doesn’t mean that you could have just waltzed in and taken it. We are an ambitious and factional crew, here.”

Crowley nodded. This was hardly unique to the Shining Court. His own court was largely the same. With a few notable exceptions, the Fey seemed to be split into two large groups – those who were interested only in the pleasures of their existence and their powers and wanted nothing to do with power and responsibility, and those who would do just about anything to gain power, through whatever means necessary.

“So, what, you’re telling me you usurped the throne to do me a _favor_?”

A frown creased Michael’s otherwise smooth face. “I didn’t declare myself queen, Lord Crowley, so you can hardly accuse me of usurping it. I’m merely regent. So yes, in a sense, perhaps we could come to some form of mutual agreement that benefits us both.”

Crowley drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t trust you, Michael,” he muttered.

“Likewise,” Michael said without missing a beat. “However, your sister put much weight in my administrative skills, and unlike Gabriel and Uriel, I never gave her any reason to question my loyalty. I think with the proper arrangement you could come to do the same.”

Crowley sat back. “I’m willing to consider a proposal.”

“Especially when the alternative is war, correct?” Michael said. “I propose that you visit the court to assume the throne, then appoint me regent in your stead. You and I will work together to hold the throne until your sister returns.”

“With what assurances from you that you will not work against our wishes?”

Michael looked unperturbed. “I’m certain we can work something out to both of our liking.”

“I will discuss this with my counselors and get back to you,” Crowley said, ending the call.

“Do you trust her?” Ezra said.

“About as far as I can throw her,” Crowley said. “Which come to think of it, is actually quite a long distance.” He stopped and scrubbed at his face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t get the sense that she’s lying.”

“Me either,” said Ezra, “but I don’t think that she’s acting 100% selflessly either. There’s something in this for her or she wouldn’t be doing it.”

Crowley barked out a harsh laugh. “That right there is the most astute statement you’ve ever made about Fae politics. Thank the powers that I have you here.” He drained his glass and stood up. “Shall we call it a night?”

“Only if you take off all those spikes,” Ezra said coyly. “Nearly put my eye out earlier.”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows and held out a hand.

Ezra took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am late! I blame the election. I was writing away until Tuesday and then... nothing. :) 
> 
> This is a quiet interlude before the next big round of action. Thank you all for reading!


	19. Visions and Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds out more (but not enough) about what Michael is after, and lets slip a secret of his own to Ezra.

Over dinner, Ezra and Crowley tried to hash out a plan.

“How is this going to work, exactly?” Ezra asked, while waiting for his soup to cool enough to take a swallow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how are you going to run two courts at once? It seems like running just one is a full-time job on its own.”

Crowley thought for a moment. “Honestly, Michael has a point. I either need a second I can trust in her court, while I concentrate on Unseelie, or I need to put someone in charge here while I concentrate there. I don’t think I could manage both all the time.”

“Both of those sound dangerous.”

“Could’ve done it with Beez’s help,” Crowley growled. “They could’ve kept the Dark Court running smoothly while I was in Seelie. If they hadn’t turned out to be such a backstabbing, deceitful –” he stopped, unable to find a bad enough word.

Ezra cleared his throat and tried to proceed gently. “Were they, though?” he said. “So entirely untrustworthy?”

Crowley put his spoon down decisively and leaned forward onto both elbows. “What?”

“Well, I just mean –”

“Tread carefully, Ezra,” Crowley warned. “I do not wish to fight with you this evening.”

“I’m trying to tread carefully,” Ezra said, annoyed but holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I just wondered if you might want to hear Beelzebub’s reasons for what they did.”

Crowley eyed him intensely for a long beat. “I take it you think I should, what, pay them a visit? Have a _conversation?_ ”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Ezra said. “And you’re going to have to deal with them eventually. Might as well get the full story first. So, you can, er, make an informed decision.”

“I’ll think about it,” Crowley said. “Okay?”

“Thank you, dear,” Ezra said giving him a broad smile. 

Crowley grumbled and went back to his soup.

\--

NO!

Crowley sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, skin clammy, and gasped as he glared around himself in the bedroom. It took him a minute to come back to himself, but when he did, he was relieved to note the quiet lump next to him appeared undisturbed. He hadn’t woken Ezra. He reached out a hand to brush lightly over his mate’s white-blond fuzz and then climbed carefully out of bed, wrapping one of the many furs that covered the bed around him.

He quietly stepped out onto the balcony, where it was chilly and crisp, and looked down at the scattered flickers of light around the outskirts of the castle. It was late; there was little activity around him. He stretched, taking a deep breath, then leaned forward to try to recall his dream.

It had been about Griane, he was sure. This had been happening more and more lately. In his dreams, instead of being transported away before she was crushed beneath the mountain of rock, he found himself stuck inside the cavern, somehow protected, but watching her disappear beneath an avalanche of stone. Over and over and over.

Just thinking about it raised his gorge and made him want to shout or fight or hurt someone. He shivered instead and watched the faces of the recent dead parade in his memory. Gabriel. Uriel. His soldiers. Griane. The trow. His seneschal, who’d been executed for his role in the conspiracy. The minor members of both their courts who conspired against them.

Too much loss. There was loss everywhere he looked. He shivered again, drawing the fur around him more tightly, and his thoughts slipped to Ezra. Lovely, mortal Ezra, lying in his bed like a ticking time bomb, right this very second – aging. Aging inexorably with every minute that passed. He could see the ending already in sight; thirty or forty years was a long time to Ezra, but it was nothing to the Fae. Nothing. A breath or two.

With a determination that bordered on fanaticism, he clamped down on thoughts of Ezra’s death. He couldn’t bear it.

His mind drifted to Hastur and Ligur and their research. Time, perhaps, for a follow up conversation. He had to stop this. He couldn’t lose Ezra too.

\--

He called them into his private office the next day. Hastur and Ligur arrived quickly, looking slightly nervous but also rather pleased with themselves. He hoped this meant good news.

“I’d like an update,” he said. “On the mortality issue.”

“My prince,” they said. “We’ve found it.”

“Found what?”

“The location,” Hastur said, a tad impatiently, watching Crowley’s face for comprehension that wasn’t coming. “Of the substance we told you about? Oh c’mon, you know, the one that could grant Ezra nearly immortal life.”

Crowley felt his heart stutter. “The elixir?”

“The very one!” Hastur crowed. “It’s… it’s in the ether --”

“Between worlds, and only available on the solstices, for a one-hour window –”

“And of course, gathering it would be risky –”

“But you like risk –"

“And we have coordinates and –"

“And it can only be gathered by a serpent --”

“But we just happen to know a serpent, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do!”

Hastur and Ligur high fived each other and turned, grinning to face their prince, who looked at them uncomprehending for a moment. They froze. Had they done something wrong?

He continued to stare at them, then finally broke out in a small grin.

“That’s good news,” he said. “Excellent news, in fact.”

Both of his counselors nearly wilted in relief.

“Tell me more about how we get it,” Crowley said, while reaching for a bottle of something red and rich looking. He poured them each a glass and invited them to sit.

It had been quite some time since Hastur and Ligur had been invited to sit down in Lord Crowley’s study. This was an evening they were going to remember. 

\--

“A scroll arrived for you,” Ezra said when he arrived back to the apartments. “Just – fizzled into existence in the outer vestibule.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and swept the scroll from his hand. “I can already tell you it’s from Michael,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “It reeks of efficiency and pragmatism.”

Ezra laughed. “You can’t really smell that can you?”

Crowley grinned at him. “’m part snake. You wouldn’t believe what I can smell.”

That was unsettling.

“Do you trust her?” Ezra said.

“Not really, no,” Crowley sighed. “My sister valued her, that’s true, but it’s hard to know who to trust any more. So many betrayals.”

“Is she really your cousin? Like she said in the first scroll?”

Crowley blinked. “Oh, that. Well, in a sense, yes. The gentry are all related,” he explained. “But it’s not the same as a blood link on Earth. We come from a common source, the ruling class. It’s more like – what would you call it, a species?”

Ezra considered that. “But you and Griane were different, I assume?”

“She and I shared a bloodline. We are twins. Although from her perspective, she was the older sister because she was completed first,” he said, with a pained laugh. “She never let me live that one down. Not once.”

Ezra enveloped him in a hug, which Crowley gratefully accepted for a moment, before pulling himself together.

“Now, now,” he chided. “I still have a kingdom or two to run.” He straightened up and opened the scroll.

Ezra watched him quietly. He could tell that his love was still in a great amount of distress from the loss of his sister, and that it was affecting him deeply. Crowley was doing his best to ignore it, to bury it under work and distractions, but this wasn’t healthy. He had to let his feelings out before they became too much for him.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when Crowley rolled the scroll shut and snapped to disintegrate it into the air around them.

“Just an invitation,” he said, “to visit tomorrow for a meeting. Nothing unexpected.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Ezra asked.

Crowley shook his head. “I’d rather you were here, safe. I won’t be long, and we can have dinner together when I’ve finished.”

“That sounds lovely,” Ezra said, but he continued to watch and worry.

\--

Ezra woke up with a start in the middle of the night. At first, he thought it was because the fire had died down and a chill was falling over the room, but soon he realized that Crowley was missing from the dark sheets beside him. He pushed his way out of bed and grabbed his robe from a nearby chair, wrapping himself securely before looking around for his mate.

He found him as he found the source of the chill – the balcony doors were thrown open, letting in the cool night air, and his love was out there, insensible to the world, curled up in a settee and staring into space.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ezra said gently, settling in beside him. Crowley shook himself out of his reverie and grimaced, then allowed himself to be pulled to rest against Ezra’s side as a comforting arm was wrapped around him.

“No,” he admitted.

“That’s been happening a fair amount lately, has it not?”

Crowley frowned. “Didn’t realize you’d noticed.”

Ezra tutted. “Course I noticed. Shall I get us something to drink?”

“Brandy might be nice,” Crowley said, and Ezra wandered in to make this a reality. While he poured them each a portion in a bejeweled goblet, he thought about the best way to broach the conversation. He was well aware Crowley could be prickly when troubled.

“Cheers,” Crowley said, accepting his goblet and clinking it against Ezra’s, before he took a long sip, his adam’s apple working as he swallowed.

Ezra ran his thumb down the back of Crowley’s neck. “Do you want to tell me about why you’re spending your nights on the balcony?”

Crowley stared out into space. “Bad dreams,” he finally said.

“I suspected as much,” Ezra said gently. “Your sister?”

Crowley nodded. “I keep reliving it. Or reliving different versions of it. Sometimes I’m in the cavern with her and we get buried. Sometimes I’m there but I’m protected, and I watch her fall. Sometimes it’s you in there. Sometimes it’s you and you send me out like she did.” Crowley put down his glass and rubbed his eyes.

Ezra kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “I’m sorry, love. You’ve got a lot to process. But I promise you I’m here and we’re safe.”

Crowley had no comment on that, but he leaned in to accept the comfort offered.

“Shall we go back to bed?” Ezra asked.

“Sure, might as well try it.”

Somehow, being cocooned under the thick furs with his love wrapped tightly around him, Crowley found it a little easier to fall asleep, and the rest of his dreams that night were peaceful. 

\--

Crowley used a newly created temporary portal to transport himself from the apartments to the council chamber of the Seelie Court. He was greeted by Stavixx the security chief, and Michael, looking stern and impassive as ever with her impeccably neat chignon and her crisp, white pantsuit that was spangled with tasteful glimmers.

“Lord Crowley,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you for coming. You honor us with your presence.”

“You honor me as well,” Crowley responded instinctively, following the form of protocol and parley. He compensated for the pleasantness of the words by putting his own disinterested spin on the tone. He turned to the centaur standing beside her.

“Stavixx,” he said coolly.

Stavixx looked unimpressed but nodded respectfully. “Your snakeness.”

They both declined the formalities, choosing instead to glare at the other for an intense beat, then returned to the matters at hand.

Michael led him to the table and went through the ritual of offering him wine, which Crowley was duty-bound to accept, and going through an elaborate and boring process of inquiring about each other’s health. Crowley tolerated it as long as he could, but finally he could take no more.

“Yes, yes, all well and good,” he snipped. “Could we get down to business?”

Michael grinned conspiratorially. “Why of course, my Lord. Allow me to summarize the situation,” she said, crossing one pointy-shoed leg over the other. “Uriel was an idiot, just full of brute force, and completely underestimated her own power in comparison to yours and your sister’s. She wasn’t loyal, and worse, she was stupid. All brawn and no finesse.”

Crowley nodded. “Agreed.”

“And Gabriel?” she continued, smiling sharply. “Gabriel was powerful but blinded by ambition and by his own narcissism. He was loyal to Griane, but essentially loved no one more than himself. He would have made a terrible leader because he couldn’t see his own behavior clearly.”

“So far your analysis is unassailable,” Crowley said. “And that brings us to?”

“To me, of course,” Michael said placidly. “I’m smarter than both of them, I’m honest, and I have a, shall we say, flexibility of thought and approach that both of them lacked?”

“And that means?”

Michael took a sip of her wine. “That I’m a practical sort. I’m not blinded either tradition or my own desires; I’m willing to make compromises and go beyond the traditional channels for something I believe in.”

Crowley nodded thoughtfully. “A useful quality, certainly. But can I trust you?”

“Trust is a delicate thing,” she said. “And it’s in the interest of trust between us that I offer you the truth. You and I aren’t friends, and I’m not going to pretend that we are. But what I am is loyal to your sister, above all else. If I think there’s a chance she’s going to return, I will hold this court for her as well as I can and hand it back to her in the best shape possible.”

“You must want something in return,” Crowley said sharply. “You’re Fae, after all.”

“I may,” she agreed. “When the time is right. But that’s no concern of yours. It’s not you I will be asking to grant it.”

He didn’t like the sound of that, Crowley thought, but after another several hours discussing in excruciating detail the way in which their two kingdoms would be administered, he agreed to end negotiations for the moment and headed home for the evening, before meeting again in the morning.

\--

Michael’s comment about what she might want in return continued to plague him after he returned home. He thought about it all through dinner, as he and Ezra sat together in the library, and even (with a brief respite of blissful distraction) in their bed that evening.

“You’re far away,” Ezra said. “Where are you?”

“Worried,” Crowley said. “Michael said something strange. And I can’t help it, I just feel like there’s something I’m missing here.”

Ezra listened as Crowley explained the earlier conversation to them.

“What could she be after?” Ezra asked.

“I don’t know, but it will be something in very much her own interests, rest assured,” Crowley sighed. “Tell me everyone isn’t out to get me. Tell me not everyone is plotting my death. Or yours.”

“I’m not aware of anyone plotting either of our deaths right now,” Ezra said soothingly.

“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Crowley demanded, voice rising. “You never know when someone is plotting your death.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“And I don’t care,” Crowley snarled, “if they’re plotting mine. Someone is _always_ plotting against me. But not you. I can’t lose you too _.”_

This was not heading in a good direction, Ezra thought. Crowley was clearing getting more and more agitated.

“You aren’t, You won’t.” Ezra said, pulling him close. “I’m right here, my dear, just like I always will be.”

“Always,” Crowley scoffed. “There is no always for a human.”

“Are we going to discuss the inferiority of my human birth yet again?” Ezra sighed, then ran a hand down Crowley’s side in hopes of distracting him.

It worked, at least for a moment. Crowley softened, enjoying the attention. “No, but – that’s the thing, Ezra!” he said, excitedly. “We _could_ have that. I might have a solution.”

That was sufficiently distracting that Ezra’s hand stopped what it had been doing. “What in the world does that mean?” he said, carefully.

Crowley leaned up on an elbow and looked at him, eyes bright. “It means that I’ve had some people researching the whole issue of your mortality for a while now, and they’ve stumbled on something that might be able to extend your lifespan. Almost indefinitely.”

Ezra swallowed. “You’ve been _what_?”

“There’s a substance,” Crowley explained. “In the – in the ether. Between worlds. The mystics write about it, say that it can only be gathered by a serpent.” He paused to take a breath, aware that the words were tumbling out too quickly, practically stumbling over himself in his eagerness. “A serpent, Ezra!! I’m a serpent! How could this not be about us? I’ll get it for you, and you can drink it, and it will make you live!”

Ezra looked at Crowley’s eyes, shining with hope and joy, and he felt ill. “This whole time – this whole time we’ve been together, you’ve been plotting behind my back to change me?”

Crowley frowned. “No, not change you. _Keep_ you, Ezra.” He paused and looked haunted. “I’m going to live for millennia after you’re gone. How do you think that’s going to _be_ for me?”

Ezra sat up and pulled the sheet around his torso. “That’s certainly food for thought,” he said weakly. “Pardon me.”

“Where are you going?”

“I just need a little air,” Ezra said, stepping out onto the balcony, where thousands of glimmers of light, orange and green and blue, flickered across the castle and were reflected on the walls of the cavern around them.

 _Breathe_ , he told himself. _Just breathe in. And out. And so on._

He clung to the railing and tried his best.

\--

“Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best way to spring that on you,” Crowley said, sidling up beside him. He joined him in staring out into night.

“You think so?” Ezra said.

“I don’t want to change you, Ezra,” Crowley said. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Ezra turned to him. “As I said, you _have_ me. I’m right here.”

“But you’re mortal.”

“I was mortal when you met me. When you decided to be with me. When we set up our arrangement. Sharing time between Earth and here,” Ezra said. “What’s changed?”

Crowley sucked in a breath. “Everything!” he said explosively. “Everything has changed! My sister is dead! Half of our top counselors are dead or imprisoned! Our best soldiers are dead! There’s death all around me, and it’s all I can think about.”

Ezra felt his heart clench despite himself. “You haven’t had to see much death, have you? Being immortal.”

“’m not immortal,” Crowley scoffed. “Just very long lived.”

“Okay, functionally immortal, if you will.”

Crowley nodded, his throat working as he stared out into the night. “But no, we don’t see a lot of death unless we cause it ourselves. Wars and such. There’s been a lot of it, lately.”

“Humans are more used to it, I suppose,” Ezra said. “We see death all the time. Our grandparents, our parents, sometimes our loved ones. We can’t help but come into relationships with our eyes open.”

When Crowley spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “How do you do it?” he said. “How do you love each other knowing how short it is, and how soon it will all be gone?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said thoughtfully. “I suppose some few of us don’t allow it, for that very reason. But in my experience, no one has ever found themselves richer for having turned away love when it comes, simply because it might end. You learn to live with it.”

“I was a lot more in control of my life before you came along,” Crowley grumbled. “A lot less happy too, but still.”

Ezra nodded. “It’s the same for me.”

Crowley turned toward him, suddenly intense. “You’re not regretting it, are you? All of this?”

Ezra took his hand. “Of course not. Are you?”

“Never,” Crowley said firmly. “Not once.”

They stood silently, reassured in each other.

“Will you think about it, though?” Crowley asked, tentatively.

“What?”

“Whether you’d be open to something extending your life span.”

Ezra sighed. “I will give it some thought,” he said reluctantly. “But I can’t see myself adopting the idea.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Crowley said, as an awkward silence fell around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another largely talky chapter, but there is as much interpersonal stuff to sort through as there is action to get through before we reach the end. Ignore my continual additions to the chapter count, please. :) We are definitely heading to the end, it's just they won't all stop TALKING. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!! I love your comments and kudos and hits! Please say hello if you have a second.


	20. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes decisions about how to run the Seelie, and in return makes the acquaintance of the proverbial straw that snapped the camel's back.

Anathema unfolded a small and rumpled map of England she’d retrieved from her desk on the kitchen table and grinned at Juliet, who leaned in to examine it.

“Have you done map dowsing before?” she asked.

Juliet shook her head no.

“I’ll show you how it works.” She took a pencil and a ruler and divided the country into four large quadrants, then she held the pendulum above the first of the four quadrants, stilled it, and quieted her mind.

“Is Juliet from this quadrant?” she asked. The pendulum stayed mostly still, showing just a slight swing side to side. “That’s a no,” she explained.

She repeated it on the next quadrant, the southeast, which was also a no, and then moved to the northwest quadrant.

“Is Juliet from this quadrant?” The pendulum suddenly moved in a circle. Juliet looked from it to Anathema’s hand, to verify that she was not causing the movement, and her eyes widened.

“Now we just work our way down,” Anathema said, dividing that part of England into another four quadrants.

After repeating the process, they were able to narrow it down to somewhere around Lancashire, but it was getting hard to divide further.

“I think we need a bigger map,” Juliet said.

“Come on, we’re going to Ezra’s,” Anathema said, slipping the pendant into her pocket. “He’s got every atlas ever created in the last five hundred years.”

\--

They ended up huddled near the hearth in Ezra’s cottage, spread out over an immense and worn map that showed the entirety of Lancashire in mind numbing detail.

“Why does he have this?” Juliet asked.

“Oh, he was finding all the old holy wells and tors and other magical sites for one of his classes,” Anathema answered. “And you know he never gets rid of his research material after the fact. The man’s practically a hoarder.”

The pendulum made quick work of the map, eliminating quadrants until they’d narrowed it down to a small area around or outside of the village of Pendle Hill.

“Does that sound familiar?” Anathema asked.

Juliet frowned, concentrating. “Not especially?” she said. “I mean I feel like I’ve heard the name before. But we’ve been looking at maps all day, so I might just be remembering it because I read it earlier.”

“There’s a handful of castles nearby,” Anathema said, consulting her phone. “And a church. And a big spooky hill.” She looked up and smiled brightly. “Feel like a road trip?”

Juliet looked thoughtful. “In that steel machine of yours?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Anathema said. “I promise you’re safe.”

“You’re sure you don’t have a horse?” 

“Quite sure.”

Juliet took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “All right then, let’s go.”

\--

Crowley began the morning with a quick visit to the Seelie Court to work out a few details of their new arrangement with Michael.

“I need you to legitimize me,” Michael said, looking somewhat offended at her own words.

“You need _me_ , the snake of Unseelie, to legitimize you in the eyes of your own court?” Crowley said incredulously.

Michael straightened her jacket officiously. “You know as well as I do that a large portion of the Gentry are quite the sticklers for protocol. While there’s certainly no fondness for you in this court, they know that the throne falls to you rather than me. They’ve cooperated with me holding things steady after the initial chaos, but they won’t accept me for long without your seal of approval.” She smoothed down her lapels. “So to speak.”

Crowley crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, considering. “Where and when?”

Michael tried hard not to make it look like they had already planned this out to the smallest detail and failed entirely. “Perhaps in the crystal throne room? In front of the full court? There’s a feast date in a few days, could be an auspicious moment for it.”

“No,” Crowley said, smirking. “Too many people, and I’ve had entirely enough of surprises lately. We’ll do it in the pavilion where we negotiated our truce last year. Gentry only. You can broadcast it to the rest of the kingdom using whatever method you like.”

Michael frowned. “All right,” she said, “if you’re afra –"

She didn’t get to finish the thought because Crowley leaned forward, his gaze hardening with dagger-like intensity, and raised a single eyebrow. She paled, words cut off midthroat, and her always impeccable posture wavered for just a moment as if she had considered slumping back in her seat. The naked fear he saw in her eyes was deeply gratifying.

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Crowley said. “I’m _cautious._ There’s a difference. Your court has proven rife with conspirators and rebellions in the last year, if you hadn’t noticed. You’d be well to take note of that yourself.”

Michael cleared her throat. “Yes of course,” she said. “I’ll set Stavixx and his team on security. Shall we say tomorrow evening?”

Crowley shook his head and stood, heading for the door.

“Let’s do it tonight. No point in delay. I’m sure someone with your administrative skills can pull something together by then.” He paused and looked back. “It’s not a _coronation_ , after all.”

Michael nodded coolly.

“I have to attend to a few issues at the Dark Court. I’ll be back at nightfall,” Crowley said. “I suggest you get to work.”

\--

Crowley headed straight for the royal apartments when he returned to the Unseelie court, and immediately sought out Ezra, who he found reading in the study.

“How was it?” he asked.

Crowley made a face. “Horrifying. What is the world coming to when Michael is the most trustworthy person in your rival court?”

Ezra smiled. “But so far they seem to be holding up their end of the bargain? Behaving honorably and all that?”

Crowley headed to the collection of bottles in the far corner. “It seems that way. Don’t get your hopes up for that continuing indefinitely though.” He rooted around and selected a bottle of something tawny gold. “Pour a glass?”

Ezra nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Crowley grimaced. He was used to the thanking by now, but it still was like having a mosquito hover around one’s head. A nuisance. Made him want to flap his arms and shoo it away.

“So,” he said, handing Ezra a glass and sitting down at the other end of the leather sofa. “What do you want to talk about? Cuz you only slip and say ‘thank you’ when you’re either annoyed with me or you have something on your mind.”

Ezra blushed. “Am I that transparent?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and fixed him with a steady gaze.

Ezra sighed. “I had some questions,” he said, “about the elixir. For a start, what do you know about it?”

Crowley thought for a minute. “Well, Hastur and Ligur have been researching it. Should I call them?”

“No,” Ezra said, “I want to know what _you_ know that makes you convinced this is a good and safe and effective option.”

Did that mean Ezra was considering it? Crowley tried not to let the sudden spike of hope show on his face.

“It’s mentioned in old stories, mostly. Annals of kingship, but so long ago that it’s been mostly forgotten, or assumed to be a myth. Hastur and Ligur found a couple corroborating sources for it in some old scrolls. Essentially, long ago, a queen of Seelie managed to get ahold of it and gave it to her consort, who was dying, and she revived.”

“How long ago?”

Crowley calculated mentally. “Mmmm, ten or so?”

“Years?”

“Thousand years.”

“Ah,” Ezra said, sharply. “So, ten THOUSAND years ago someone gave this to their partner, and as far as we know the partner lived without any significant harm?”

Crowley eyed him cautiously. “You know time runs differently here. Ten thousand years is not all that long for us. I’ve been ruling Unseelie for nearly a thousand years now. Just getting started.”

Ezra filed that piece of info away. “And the consort? Was she human? What happened to her?”

“She was not,” Crowley admitted. “She was fae, but not Gentry, and she’d been mortally wounded, supposedly by iron during a hunt. The queen brought her back and used a spell to bind her to her form while she retrieved the elixir. All I know is that the consort lived.”

Ezra frowned. “So, what you’re saying is that this elixir has only been used once that we know of, has never been tested on a human, and we don’t really know what it’s full effects are?”

Crowley nodded and flapped a hand impatient. “Yes, yes, if you want to put it in the most negative possible outlook, that’s all technically correct.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes. “You’ll have to pardon me if I want to know exactly what you and your team are proposing to be done to me, your highness.”

“Oh don’t ‘your highness’ me,” Crowley groaned. “I’m trying to do you a _favor,_ Ezra. Do you know how many of your fellow humans would jump at the chance to live forever? It’s honestly one of the primary requests we get from your kind – at least back in the day when we were more open to making bargains.”

“My kind?” Ezra said, stricken.

“You know, humans,” Crowley said, feeling slightly wrong-footed.

“Well,” Ezra said stiffly. “Perhaps you should be dating one of them.”

Crowley leapt to his feet. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous! For one, we aren’t _dating_. We are far, far beyond dating. And for another you know I don’t want anyone but you.”

Ezra nodded conciliatorily, but his eyes didn’t meet his directly. “I know that,” he said softly. “I do.”

Crowley grunted noncommittally. It was shaping up to be a terrible day, he thought. He finished his drink without further comment, then excused himself. By unspoken agreement, they both seemed content to not push the subject further right now, but he was well aware that it was weighing on them both.

\--

Crowley returned to Seelie that evening and was taken immediately to the gold pavilion where his sister had hosted the negotiations for the return of hostages over a year ago. Michael had recreated it with even further splendor than before – the gold silk tent arched a little higher, was lit by a few more purplish-silver orbs than he remembered, and had a few more chairs than at that long ago meeting. There had been seven at their first encounter here – Griane and her top three advisors, and he with his two most trusted counselors. Now, twenty or thirty chairs were set up facing a front platform, on which stood an elaborate chair which looked somewhat like the crystal throne while being far enough from it to not arouse any unnecessary suspicion.

“What’s happening here, Michael?” Crowley muttered as they stood near the back of the room. 

“We will have an audience of the Gentry peers,” Michael said, “and you will have the podium for your announcement and investiture.”

“After which, what, you sit in the throne replica you’ve created there?” Crowley snarled. “Are you going to hold the scepter of office as well?”

Michael hmphed. “No, no,” she said, “ _that_ belongs to you. Of course, I’ve had it brought here,” she added, offhand. “So that you may use it to make things official.”

Crowley eyed her. “Keep in mind that you officially work for me, now,” he reminded her. “And that the Shadow Court would back me in any serious struggle for the throne.”

Michael frowned. “I’m well aware, your Grace,” she said, before turning to see to more of the arrangements.

_I don’t like this_ , he thought. Then again, who else was he going to rely on to hold the Crystal Court? The remaining counselors were a foolhardy bunch. Of the more powerful gentry, Lady Sandalphon was the primary contender for leadership, and she was entirely untrustworthy and positively lethal. Michael was at least a known quantity, and if she had her own agenda, at least he knew that going in.

He prayed to the many and absent gods that his sister would be back, and soon.

\--

While Crowley was off fulfilling his duties in the Shining Court, Aziraphale felt himself falling into something of a funk. He wandered the apartments in a daze, idly picking up items and putting them down, not really seeing any of them. At first, he thought he was just worried about Crowley in the Seelie court and out of sorts in general, but more and more his thoughts kept coming back to his conversation with Crowley and the elixir.

Immortality. Or nearly so. Was he a fool not to immediately jump at the chance?

He knew Crowley was largely correct; most of his contemporaries on Earth would love nothing so much as to have a chance at eternal youth. The ones that were least deserving of it, he thought, would be the first to leap headfirst at the opportunity. He, however, had always been a more cautious sort. And he’d had just enough exposure to classic tales of bargains made and regretted to understand that one should not only always look a gift horse in the mouth, one should sit down and count their teeth just to be sure they weren’t getting more than they bargained for.

Of _course_ he would like to spend longer with Crowley, and he worried desperately about what his eventual loss would do to his love. But at the same time, Ezra _liked_ being human. He wasn’t sure he wanted to risk losing some essential part of himself on an elixir that, as far as he could tell, had never been tested on a human. What would it do to him? How would it change him? Would it even work, or would it poison him in some way?

And further, he couldn’t help but feel stung by the fact that Crowley had not only arranged all of this without consulting him, but that he had never considered that Ezra might have an issue with it.

It was quite a lot, it turned out, to not only fall in love with an immortal being, accept the presence of real, true magic in the world, begin living your life in two different worlds, and then make a decision on whether or not to become immortal, all in the space of just over a year.

The thought made his head spin. He put aside the cocoa he’d been contemplating for the last hour and decided to go with something stronger. Port, perhaps. Port would help dull the ache.

\--

Anathema and Juliet’s search led them through a series of small towns and villages with the pendulum guiding them closer and closer to their target. Eventually their search narrowed down to the village of Newchurch and led them to the parish church, where the vicar was kind enough to receive them in his study and attempt to answer their questions.

“We’re looking for information on an ancestor of my friend,” Anathema said smoothly, while they sipped their tea genteelly out of the bone china cups he’d offered. “We think she may have lived here about two hundred years ago?”

The vicar looked around his crowded den, filled to the brim with books and papers. “We do have some old parish registers here. Births and deaths, christenings. Might take me a while to find the correct one.” He turned to Juliet. “Can you give me any more information on what you know of her, my dear?”

Juliet fidgeted. “I -- I don’t know her surname. Her name was Juliet. I – I’m named for her, you see.”

“Ah,” the vicar said. “Do you know anything more?”

“I believe she… went missing,” Anathema added, choosing her words carefully. “Somewhere in the vicinity of 1780-1795. Should have been a noteworthy event.”

“Well I believe I can work with that,” the vicar said. “Shall I give you a ring if I find anything?”

“That would be lovely,” Anathema said, standing up and offering him her hand. “It was very kind of you to meet with us. Thank you for your help!”

\--

A small crowd of mostly familiar faces had gathered in the pavilion. Crowley looked across them from his perch just outside the back panel; he recognized at least half of the twenty or so Gentry gathered here. Michael, of course, was front and center, dressed in her usual pure white and with a costly pile of tiny gems in her chestnut hair. She looked cool and collected as always, and caught his eye to offer a quick, tight smile. She looked, he thought, a little too pleased with herself for his tastes.

Lady Sandalphon sat to her left, proudly front and center, dressed to draw maximum attention in all her glittering finery and with her wings out to make it difficult for anyone to sit near her. She, Crowley knew, was probably the biggest threat to the peaceful continuation of his sister’s court – for all of her refined looks and manners, Lady Sandalphon was a power-hungry thug, concerned only with her own needs, and had been Gabriel’s closest companion before he overstepped.

He rolled his eyes as Michael had a pair of trumpeters blow a fanfare. Trumpets! For an investiture! Michael was certainly playing this for maximum pageantry. Nonetheless, the noisy crowd quieted down significantly, and all faces turned to the dais.

With a deep sigh and a quick wish that Ezra was here to mock the whole proceedings with him, Crowley donned his mental armor and stepped into the tent as the Dark Prince of Unseelie.

A hush instantly fell over the room. He found this gratifying.

“Greetings to you, Gentry of the Shining Court,” Crowley said, his power automatically making his voice reverberate around the room. “I am with you today as my sister’s representative, to fulfill the duties put upon me by the Shadow Court as co-ruler of the realm.”

At the mention of Shadow Court, the room fell even quieter, if such a thing was possible. Crowley looked around, making eye contact with as many of the audience as he could, judging their intentions through their body language. Most looked nervous.

“As you know,” he continued solemnly, “my sister was struck down performing a great service for the realm. The working we discovered perverted the core magics of the realm and threatened not only our ability to travel but the very existence of the realm itself. This threat has now been eradicated. No member of either Fae court need fear being obliterated while using a portal or lost to the spaces between.”

There was a polite smattering of applause, led, of course, by Michael.

“Per our laws and customs, Griane’s throne falls to me, her only living blood.” He paused again for dramatic effect. “While I intend to hold the throne securely for her return, I have decided that the best way to do so is to allow the Seelie court to be managed, on a day to day basis, by a Seelie lord who knows your ways and your customs.”

The applause became slightly more enthusiastic.

“As such, I am here to declare Michael, Griane’s loyal lieutenant, as official regent of the Seelie court, to act as my official representative.” Crowley turned his gaze on Michael, who met it squarely. “Step forward, Michael.”

Michael stepped forward to stand before Crowley, who lifted the scepter of office that had been Griane’s. Unlike his, it was crowned not with a dark beacon but with a glowing golden orb. He lifted it above him with both hands and took a deep breath.

“Michael a Aos Sí, you are called on to act as a guardian to the people of these courts until such a time as your queen returns to you. Do you accept this responsibility?”

“I do,” Michael said, her voice firm and clear.

“Do you bind yourself to this purpose with your blood and your magics, with the promise that you shall bring no direct harm to your people or those you serve and shall do your best to shepherd them safely through this trying time?”

Michael looked at him strangely for just a moment, clearly surprised by his wording, before nodding her head compliantly. “I do so swear.”

Crowley brought the scepter down and touched each shoulder of the woman standing beside him. “I hereby invest you with the role of regent,” he said. “Serve us well.”

\--

Crowley turned to leave when suddenly a voice rang out.

“Lord Crowley,” the voice said, smooth as silk. “A moment?”

Crowley turned back to the crowd, who ceased their rustling and sat back down in their chairs for a moment as Lady Sandalphon stood before them. Michael stood beside them, looking unsettled.

“Yes?” he said imperiously.

“We have a few questions for you, about your sister, if you would grant us an audience before you depart.”

He sighed inwardly. Of course they had questions. “Very well,” he said. “Do you want to speak to me privately?”

“No,” Lady Sandalphon said theatrically. “Here in front of our people will suffice.”

Crowley frowned. “Speak, Lady Sandalphon.”

“We are wondering if you can shed light on the events that occurred in the cavern, Lord Crowley,” she purred. “Surely you can understand that the people of this court have some concerns.”

At her side, Michael laid a hand on Lady Sandalphon’s arm and muttered something, clearly trying to quiet her, but Lady Sandalphon shook her off as if she were no more than a fly.

“Concerns?” His voice held an edge of danger, and he was gratified to see a few members of the court pale.

Lady Sandalphon turned and looked at the members of the Gentry arrayed behind her, then turned her pale eyes to Lord Crowley again. “Well you see, your majesty, it appears somewhat odd that we lost two members of our court that day – both Lord Uriel and Lady Griane – while you emerged completely unscathed.” She took a delicate breath and arranged her features in a look of syrupy concern. “One might wonder if there is a reason for that.”

Crowley felt his spine stiffen as a burning heat curled through his body, beginning in his skull, and traveling down into his torso and limbs. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath while his primal brain yelled at him to strike her down where she stood. He had never wanted to kill another member of the Gentry quite so much in hi life. Not even Gabriel, who had threatened his love. The urge to smite was a roaring in his ears that he managed to subdue only with the most intense effort.

“Lord Uriel tried to kill both myself and your Queen,” he said, when he could master his voice. “She was transformed to stone before the fall of the cavern and would still be there as a living rock if the collapse had not happened. Your Queen deemed this a fitting punishment for her crimes.”

“And your own miraculous escape, your majesty?”

Crowley drove his fingernails into his palms hard enough to draw blood. _How dare she. How bloody dare she._

_“_ I did not leave Griane’s side willingly,” he bit out. “Your queen took it upon herself to transport me out of the cavern before she undertook the last step in unleashing the powers that had been unnaturally fused to the monolith.”

“You expect us to believe that our lady chose your life over her own?” Lady Sandalphon asked, incredulous.

“I expect nothing from you but treachery, Lady Sandalphon,” Crowley hissed. “If you have a claim to make, bring it up with the Shadow Court, if you dare. But you know as well as I do the penalties for _wasting their time_.”

Lady Sandalphon fell silent at that and did indeed look a little cowed. Crowley scanned the assembly, meeting every eye in turn with a wrath that few could withstand; most of them looked away or sketched a quick bow of submission. A few returned the gaze as challenging as they could.

At last, he turned his eye to Michael, who, for once, looked discomposed.

“An inauspicioussss start to your governorship, Regent,” he said, smiling sharply in his most unfriendly manner. “I encourage you to get your fellow courtierssss under control.” 

Michael made a deep curtsy, and remained in that position, head down.

Crowley whipped his cloak around him and used a spell to immediately transport himself home.

\--

Ezra heard the crashing noises from his perch at the top of the library tower and raced down the stairs, following the sound through the study and into the hallway and finally to the kitchen. He had just walked into the doorway when he jumped back as a huge piece of crockery hit the wall beside him and splintered into a thousand pieces.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Crowley shouted, sweeping the contents of a shelf of drinking glasses to the floor. He picked up a jug that seemed satisfyingly full of something and dashed it against the wall nearest the kitchen tower stairs.

Ezra stepped into the room and cleared his throat. “Crowley?” he called. “What’s happened?”

Crowley whirled around to glare at him. His eyes were burning gold, the pupils nearly nonexistent. “Stay back, Ezra!” he shouted. “I intend to shatter every breakable thing in this room!”

Ezra calmly stayed where he was as Crowley swept an arm across a countertop full of assorted knives and utensils. They clattered to the floor.

There was a sudden pop as a frightened-looking redcap popped into existence on the kitchen’s servant portal.

“My lord –” it began.

“GET OUT!” Crowley howled, heaving a massive stone mortar at the startled servant, who swore and popped himself back out of existence just before it hit him. The cumbersome bowl, carved from solid rock, splintered into three distinct pieces from the force of the throw.

Ezra took a deep breath and stepped forward. “My love,” he said gently, “whatever it is, it’s hardly worth killing the servants.”

Crowley panted, his eyes darting around the room, and took a step away until his back hit the wall. “Stay back.”

Ezra took another step. “You won’t hurt me.”

“No,” Crowley panted. “But I want to destroy the whole world right now.”

Ezra moved closer. “What did they do to you, my love?”

Crowley crumpled, sliding down the wall until he was huddled at the base of it. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. “It wasn’t Michael. But the other courtiers; they – they said –” he stopped, unable to continue. “They said that I killed her.”

Ezra sat down next to him and tentatively reached out to put an arm around Crowley’s shoulders. He allowed it, letting himself be pulled into Ezra’s embrace.

“They asked how I survived unscathed when both Uriel and Griane were obliterated,” Crowley said. “Like it was my fault. Like I orchestrated it.”

Ezra pushed away his own fury at hearing this and instead tightened his hold on the Dark Prince, tucking him into his shoulder and leaning his head down on top of his as Crowley’s shoulders began to shake. He held him, wordless, stroking his hair as the emotions of the last few weeks finally, finally emerged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. This one was so hard to write. I had despaired of posting today until I finally figured out what was wrong with it yesterday. :) I am beginning to understand why novelists are a little crazy by the end of a long work. 
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you for reading!! I have two extra days off this week from my very challenging job in healthcare and am hoping I can write a ton on the next chapter! Also Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate it. We are having a small family feast on Thursday night after my spouse gets home from his hospital shift. I am grateful this year, among many other things, for the power of story to get us through rough times, for my wonderful beta and writing buddy Zeck, and for all of you showing up and reading my stuff every week!


	21. Things Come Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley reaches his breaking point, with disastrous consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize...

It took quite some time for Crowley to calm. By the time he stopped, Ezra’s tunic was thoroughly wet, and Crowley frowned at it and snapped his fingers, drying it instantly. He leaned away and rested his head against the stone wall behind them, and Ezra reached out and entwined their fingers together tightly.

Crowley sniffled. “We must never speak of this again,” he said hoarsely. “The Dark Prince, sobbing like a child.”

“Of course not, my love,” Ezra said. “Never happened.”

Crowley nodded. “Good.” 

“Shall we take this to another room? Somewhere with less pointy bits waiting to be stepped on?” Ezra said gingerly, waving at the broken crockery around them.

Crowley sighed. “I’m so exhausted,” he admitted. “Can we please just go to bed? I’ll tell you more about it in the morning.”

Ezra stood up, kicked a few shards and a frighteningly sharp-looking cleaver away, and held out his hand to the prince. Crowley took it.

\--

They fell into an exhausted sleep, curled up tightly together, but when Ezra woke Crowley’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Alarmed, he wrapped himself in a warm robe, then checked the balcony first, with no luck. He wandered through the apartment, and then eventually into the outer vestibule where he found Crowley ensconced at his large, imposing desk, scratching rapidly on parchment with a dramatic black quill.

“Ezra!” he said, looking up quickly and then returning immediately to his work. “Sorry, couldn’t sleep, had some business to attend to.” He continued to write quickly on the scroll in sharp, urgent movements. His hair was sticking up in all directions and his skin had a pallor that made him seem like perhaps he was ill. Ezra reached over to lay a hand on his forehead only to find himself pushed off.

“What business, my dear?” Ezra asked, getting the sinking sensation that the progress they’d made the last evening had been erased by an unknown hand.

“I received a scroll in the early hours of the morning,” Crowley spat, “letting me know that Lady Sandalphon actually had the nerve to file a formal inquiry with the Shadow Council.”

“She didn’t!” Ezra gasped.

“She very much did,” Crowley growled. “She is a fool; the price she will pay when her accusations are found to be baseless will be severe. Nonetheless, she takes advantage while she can find it, and seeks to discomfit me and loosen my hold on her court as much as possible.”

“And what will you do in response?” Ezra asked.

“I’m calling up the troops,” Crowley said grimly. “We’re going to secure the Seelie Court by force.”

Ezra frowned. “Wait, what?” he said. “Can you explain that to me?”

Crowley laid down the quill and fixed him with a gaze that was both steady and slightly desperate around the edges. 

“Surely,” he said, “you’re familiar with the concept of going to war?”

Ezra felt blood thundering in his ears. “You’re going to war?” he asked weakly. “Because Lady Sandalphon accused you of killing your sister?”

Crowley laughed; it was a harsh, bitter sound with no humor at all in it. “Really, Ezra,” he said. “Wars here have been fought over _much_ less. Once there was a war fought over the fact that one of the dukes of Unseelie used a toothpick while dining with the Seelie Queen. A _toothpick_.”

Ezra stared. “But war is bad, isn’t it?” he asked. “Lots of – lots of deaths, aren’t there? I thought you were sick of death.”

“I’m sick of unexpected death,” Crowley said, smiling with brittle satisfaction. “War is something else entirely. Honestly, I think half of the problem with the two courts these days is that we haven’t had a proper war in much too long. It’s a favorite pastime down here. And it’s not so bad, Ezra – as long as there are no iron weapons, almost everyone comes back at the end of the fighting.”

“That’s –” Ezra sputtered. “That’s barbaric. You make it sound like you’re just killing each other for _fun_!”

“It is fun,” Crowley said, smiling darkly. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Ezra swallowed the horror he felt at that response and tried to gather his thoughts. “How will this keep Seelie safe for your sister’s return?” he asked. “I don’t see how it helps.”

Crowley waved a hand and went back to his scrolls. “Because,” he said. “I can put them completely under my thumb and take full control. Grind them to my will. Steer them in whatever way I want.”

Ezra stared. When Crowley failed to look up again, he backed slowly away, and ran for the bedroom to pull on his clothes, grab an extra cloak, and retrieve an item or two he needed. He then hurried out of the apartments without another word to Crowley, who hardly seemed to notice him passing.

The Dark Prince of Unseelie had completely lost his mind, and he suddenly knew exactly what he needed to do.

\--

Ezra took some care to stay out of sight on his trip down to the dungeons. He took a circuitous route, sliding behind columns when he heard voices coming towards him, blending effortlessly into groups of creatures when he came across them. Finally, with one last look around to ensure the halls were empty, he hurried down the final stairs that would take him to the hidden entrance to the dungeons.

He laid a hand to the flat rock panel, found the release, and waited as the door opened. He slid it closed behind him, and then stood for a moment, heart pounding, getting his breath back under control.

When his heart and breathing had slowed, he grabbed a lit torch from the nearest wall bracket and made his way down the mossy, slick stairs and off to the left, where he knew Beelzebub’s cell was.

Beelzebub was much as they had been the last time Ezra had visited – the flicker of the torch revealed the slim figure of Beelzebub sitting cross-legged on the dingy cot, eyes closed, appearing mostly vacant. If Ezra hadn’t seen it before, he would have worried if Beelzebub was even breathing.

“Beez,” Ezra said urgently, taking another look around for interlopers. “Wake up. I need to talk to you.”

With infinitesimal slowness, Beelzebub’s body slowly reanimated, segment by segment, until finally one eye opened, and then the other.

“Ezzzzzra,” they buzzed, their voice sounding rough from lack of use. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Ezra stepped closer to the bars. “You need to come help. Crowley’s lost his mind. He’s raising an army.”

“An army?” Beelzebub said, coming right up to the bars to look closely at Ezra with their deep, black eyes. They looked, Ezra noted, fresh as a daisy, rather than like someone who’d wasted away for the last few weeks in a dungeon.

“He’s determined that he needs to take the Seelie court by force,” Ezra said. “Doesn’t trust Michael.”

“Can’t blame him on that,” Beelzebub said. “Michael’s a twat.”

“Yes, she is,” Ezra agreed, “but I actually think she’s trying to help. She’s declared herself regent, under Crowley’s jurisdiction, and proposes to hold the seat for him until – if – until Griane returns.”

Beelzebub absorbed that. “That seems to make sense.”

“He thought so at first, too, but Lady Sandalphon confronted him and accused him of killing his sister for her seat, in front of the entire Gentry, and he’s – he’s just – he’s losing it,” Ezra said. “I’ve never seen him like this. He needs to talk to someone.”

“And it can’t be you because?”

Beelzebub had always been too clever by half, Ezra noted wryly.

“Because we are a bit at odds with each other,” Ezra admitted. “There’s an issue. Between us. And he just dismisses me about this because I ‘don’t understand the culture here’ and ‘war is good’ and all kinds of nonsense. He needs to talk to someone who understands his world better than I do.” 

He felt the weight of Beelzebub’s gaze, assessing him and looking a little too deeply for his comfort.

“He has no one to counsel him,” Ezra continued, forlornly. “You were the only person he trusted, and Griane maybe, and you’re both out of reach. He’s trying to keep going but he’s just so weighed down by grief right now.” He stopped and swallowed. “He’s making poor decisions and he needs you to stop him.”

Beelzebub stared for a moment longer, then seemed to come to a decision. 

“Well I’d love to help,” Beelzebub drawled, “but I’m still imprisoned, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Ezra blushed slightly and pulled the key out of his pocket. “I might be able to help with that.”

“You really have gone rogue, haven’t you?” Beelzebub said, impressed. “Well if you aren’t at odds now, you soon will be.”

Ezra shrugged. “I have to help him, even if it costs me too much.”

The door clanged open, and Beelzebub stepped out gingerly, as if expecting a magical force to prevent it. When nothing happened, they smiled at Ezra.

“So, where do I need to be?” they asked. “Lead the way.”

\--

They found Crowley in the records room, working with Hastur to dig through a pile of scrolls, his back to the door. Hastur looked up as Ezra and Beelzebub entered; his eyes widened and his already pale face lost even more of its color. He stood up quickly and bowed briskly to Lord Crowley.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” he muttered, stepping around the table and making haste for the door. “I – I must go.”

“What?” Crowley said irritably, pushing back in his seat. “Where are you –” he turned and caught sight of his new visitors. He leapt to his feet.

“What is this?” Crowley said tersely. “Ezra? Explain.”

“I…” Ezra swallowed. “You two need to talk.”

“Tell me why I should not bottle the both of you right now,” Crowley snarled.

Ezra opened his mouth to respond indignantly but Beelzebub cut him off, bowing deep. “Don’t worry, my Lord, I will return to my cell when bid. Ezra released me only for one specific purpose, and I do not intend to circumvent your will beyond that.”

“Oh, what a very great comfort,” Crowley said.

“Crowley,” Ezra said. “Please.”

Crowley eyed him suspiciously but finally sat down again and pushed out the chair across from him with a long leg. “Very well,” he said. “I will hear you out.”

Beelzebub took the offered seat and Ezra took the chair between them. “I understand you are preparing for war.”

Crowley nodded. “What can a traitor such as yourself have to say about that?”

“I am many things, your lord, but I am not and have never been a traitor.”

“All right then,” Crowley said. “A liar.”

Beelzebub took a deep breath. “To my lasting regret, my lord. Do you wish to know my reasons for it?”

“I’m not certain how knowing your reasons would help, but I won’t deny you the opportunity to offer your puny excuses.”

Ezra forced himself to take deep breaths as the tension in the room continued to rise. This would work. This had to work. First Beelzebub had to regain at least a portion of the prince’s trust, and then they had to talk him out of this foolish war.

“I did not realize Juliet was with child until close to the end. She couldn’t tell me, and my knowledge of human anatomy and life cycles was limited, as you know,” Beelzebub said. “And when I found out, I was immediately aware of my son posing the deepest of threats, not only to myself and Juliet but to you as my sovereign.”

Crowley frowned. “How so?”

“Because he’s a forbidden hybrid!” Beelzebub said. “Do not doubt that my first thought was to turn to you for help. But you would have protected him, we both know that, and it would have brought a maelstrom of conflict down on your court. Those opposed to you could have increased their support tenfold if you came out in favor of not destroying a hybrid, and your friendship with me would have made it difficult not to.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley said. “But I’m more cunning than you give me credit for. We would have figured something out.”

“I couldn’t risk being the cause of your downfall,” Beelzebub said. “So, I arranged to take the child away, and I took it to another continent. I left him in America. It never occurred to me that he would end up living back in the Celtic Isles.”

Crowley was silent. The story was plausible. He could sense truth and heard no falsehoods. But it was difficult to take in.

“And Juliet?” Crowley said. “Did she have any say in losing her child in this way?”

Beelzebub looked down. “No, she did not.”

“Well, there’s that.”

“I will not defend the decision; it was not lightly made. Juliet was hardly aware the baby existed and could not care for him. I could not remove myself from court life to do so without arousing suspicion and being discovered.” Beelzebub looked stubborn. “If you think it pleased me to consign my only son to life on Earth and pretend he never existed, you are mistaken.”

Ezra ached, hearing it. Crowley drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and the frown on his face lessened slightly, then reformed, then lessened. He took a deep breath and huffed it out.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You didn’t betray me out of a sense of fun or adventure or personal gain. I –” he waved his hand imperially – “release you from imprisonment and commend you to house arrest in your home here at court.”

Beelzebub bowed low and did not thank him. “I am grateful, my Lord.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do,” Crowley said.

Ezra cleared his throat and looked at Beelzebub, who nodded uncomfortably.

“Might I help?” Beelzebub said. “I understand you’re preparing for war. Perhaps I can be of use.”

Crowley glared at them for a long moment, then relented. “Well you’re better than Hastur, I’ll grant you that. Fine. Sit down.” He turned to look icily at Ezra. “And I assume you have a key to return to me?”

Ezra swallowed and handed it over. “You needed someone to help.”

Crowley made a noise he couldn’t interpret and tucked the key away, before turning back to his work. Ezra took the opportunity to leave them to it, and quietly left.

\--

An uneasy truce fell between Prince and counselor as they began to work through the process of provisioning an army and creating the initial outline of a battle plan.

“Yes, that’s all well and good,” Beelzebub said with unusual formality, looking at Crowley’s initial plan. “However, might I speak freely?”

Crowley looked up from his scroll. “If you must.”

“I was just wondering,” Beelzebub said carefully. “Why are you taking the Seelie court by force when you already possess it, and when you just a few days ago invested your governor there?”

The Prince frowned ferociously. “I knew it. Ezra brought you here to talk me out of this.”

“No,” Beelzebub said. “He brought me here because he’s concerned about you. And there’s no one else who would dare to ask you the questions that need to be asked.”

“Ezra overreaches,” Crowley muttered.

“My question,” Beelzebub said as archly as they dared, “was not rhetorical.”

Crowley shook his head. “What? Oh. You wish to know my reasons.” He stood up and paced down one side of the long table, then paused at the head of it, leaning in and placing both fists on the table. “Because they accuse me of my sister’s death. They’ve launched an official inquiry.”

Beelzebub tried to quell their own murderous rage in response to this, but it showed in their eyes. Crowley saw it burn there and nodded in response.

“You see,” he said, pushing up and practically vibrating with rage, “the utter insult. It cannot go unanswered.”

Beelzebub nodded. “I would kill Lady Sandalphon for you in your place if you would allow it. I would tear her limbs from her body and drive iron into her heart.”

Crowley grinned sharply. “That might get you out of house arrest.”

Beelzebub grinned back, then with effort brought themselves back to their task. “However,” they said cautiously, “Lady Sandalphon is the one who has wronged you. From what I understand, Michael has proven at least somewhat trustworthy in this endeavor?”

“Who knows for how long?” Crowley said. “And I don’t believe Lady Sandalphon took this action without support.”

“So, you have enemies in the Seelie Court,” Beelzebub said. “When has that ever not been true?”

“You sound,” Crowley said archly, “like you’re opposed to _war_.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “I fought by your side in every war we’ve had in the last thousand years. With great joy on some occasions. But there are good wars and bad wars. You know this as well as I.”

Crowley’s shoulders stiffened. “My cause is just.”

“Your cause to slaughter that bitch Sandalphon is just. In as visible a manner as you want.” Beelzebub checked themselves. “Or it would be if the Shadow Court were not now involved. But after the matter is resolved you can take your revenge in any manner you please. Or do you lack the patience to wait for it, so you must take the lives of half of their court and possibly half of yours as well?”

“I’m so glad you were released from your bloody cell,” Crowley snarked. “So nice to be insulted again by someone who is actually competent at it.” 

Beelzebub held their ground. “We have had too much death lately,” he said. “And I know that you’re aware Griane would not thank you to slaughter her court instead of holding it for her. Or do you intend for her to become your enemy when she returns, as well?”

Crowley bared his teeth in a hiss, clenched his fists, and turned and strode from the room.

He had another conversation in mind, and it was going to happen now.

\--

He found his target in the apartments, reading in front of the bedroom fire.

Ezra calmly placed a marker and laid his book down, then stood to face Crowley, squaring his shoulders and looking resolute. “I assume this is the part where we have a really large fight?” he asked quietly.

Crowley frowned at him. “You go too far, Ezra.”

“I go where I go because I love you,” Ezra said, gritting his teeth. “If you can’t see that, I can’t help you.”

Crowley unhooked his cloak and threw it on the bed and sat down to pull off his boots. “I don’t recall asking you to help me,” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh poppycock,” Ezra snapped. “You asked for me to share your life. You would be wise to assume this includes trying to get you help when I think you’ve lost all perspective!”

Crowley whirled. “You do not get to stand in judgment on my decisions of state, Ezra,” he shouted.

“Well someone needs to!” Ezra shouted back. “Which is why you need Beelzebub. Everyone else here is too frightened of you to challenge you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Thank you for that astute analysis,” he said bitterly. “Perhaps you should be a little more afraid of me yourself.”

Ezra stood up, hands on his hip. “Is that what we’ve come to now, really?” he yelled. “You truly want me to fear you? Apologies _your majesty,_ I didn’t realize.” He sketched a deep and entirely insincere bow.

“Stop that!” Crowley shouted. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Ezra said.

“Fine then,” Crowley shouted. “Perhaps I need to challenge you in return. Where do your loyalties lie?”

“Really, my dear,” Ezra sighed, feeling that question land somewhere in the region of his sternum with a burst of pain he was surprised wasn’t audible. “They have always lain with you and you know that. How dare you question it?”

“You free my prisoners,” Crowley retorted, “and you refuse my most precious gift. What am I to think?”

Ezra took a step back, shaking his head. “Oh. Oh, I see.” He sat down heavily on the settee. “That’s what this is really about.”

Crowley pursued him, coming around to stand between the settee and the fireplace. The glow lit up his body in silhouette, making it look like he was wreathed in a thin layer of flame. Ezra watched, transfixed, as the blaze lit up his red hair like garnets and hid his face in shadows.

“So,” he said tersely, “What will it be? Have you considered my offer?”

Ezra shook his head. “I have. My answer has not changed.”

“You’re turning down the opportunity to become almost immortal,” Crowley said, his face blank.

“How can I accept it on such short notice, and under such immense pressure from you?” Ezra said hotly. “Even if I had been inclined to, I’d hardly do so now with you acting like such a maniac.”

“Oh, and yet _your_ decisions make so much sense,” Crowley countered.

“I know who I am, Crowley,” Ezra said with quiet dignity. “I’m human. I can’t become Fae for you any more than you can become human for me.”

“Why NOT?” Crowley shouted, feeling for all the world like a child stamping its feet. “Why can’t you stay? Why can’t you give me more than, what, fifty years? If we’re lucky?”

“Because it’s risky and unnatural,” Ezra said. “You know enough about the world of magic to know these things always have a price. You haven’t even thought about what that price might be. What if I let myself undergo this for you and it changed me in some essential way that made us not love each other anymore? What if the price is you losing _your_ immortality? What if suddenly I’m gifted with a long, endless life without the reason I wanted it to begin with?”

Crowley gaped at him. “Well obviously we’d _test_ it first.”

Ezra’s face turned dark and he glowered with the force of a thunderstorm. “On whom? Some hapless human? Another Juliet, drawn into the Fae world and destroyed without even a choice?” He took a deep breath and tried to lower his shoulders, which had somehow become clenched up around his ears. “This is part of why I can’t take you up on your offer, your majesty. I feel like I don’t even know you right now.”

“Stop calling me your majesty,” Crowley growled, scrubbing at his face with his hands. He turned and gazed into the fire to collect his thoughts. When he looked ahead, he saw a future stretching in front of him in which Ezra became older and more infirm each year, eventually becoming too frail to make even his yearly visit, and he tried to imagine watching him wither and die like overripe fruit. He knew he would love him through all of it, but he didn’t know if he could handle watching with full knowledge as it slowly approached.

“Crowley,” Ezra said gently. He stood up and stepped closer to him. “My love.”

Crowley turned to face him, and his face was a mask of pain.

“Do you really want to age, angel?” Crowley asked, forlorn. “I can stop that. You don’t have to – you don’t need to stoop over and watch your hair fall out and get liver spots. You can just stay like this. Like you are now. My Ezra.”

Ezra took his hands, his eyes filled with endless sorrow. “I will be your Ezra whether I have a hair on my head or a tooth in my gums,” he said. “Good heavens, you tempt me, serpent.”

“I’ve been told I’m good at it,” Crowley said.

Ezra reached out and ran a hand down Crowley’s cheek, and his love turned into it, eyes shut tight. Ezra could see the heartbreak in every line of his body.

“So you’re telling me that I hold here the knowledge on how to keep you here with me forever,” Crowley said, “bought with the toil of your friends and mine, and you won’t take it?”

“I can’t, my love,” Ezra breathed. “Forgive me.”

“I don’t think I can,” Crowley said. “At least not right now.”

He took Ezra’s hand, which still lingered on his cheek, and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss, then he turned and walked out.

\--

Ezra sat staring into the fire for hours that evening, but Crowley did not return. When he failed to return the next two evenings as well, Ezra got the message and began packing his things. It was nearly time for his return to Earth anyways; going home a few weeks early wouldn’t kill him. At least not anymore than the current heartache would.

He looked around the bedroom, not sure he would ever return, and tried to decide what to take and leave. In the end he took all the belongings he’d brought from Earth, along with the notebooks and papers he’d written here. He wrapped and added the gifts Crowley had given him – little mementoes of special evenings, a copper bowl that sang when stroked, a snake ring and matching cloak brooch, his fine leather boots, a pair of unworldly decanters. He wouldn’t use them, but he couldn’t bear to part with them. The rest of his court wardrobe he left hanging in the closet, and everything else belonged here. And he knew better than to try to take home the Fae books he’d come to love, knowing they would change to leaves before he exited the tor.

Finally, he sat down in the outer vestibule and pulled out two pieces of parchment. On one, he penned a quick note to Beelzebub bidding them to take care of Crowley in his absence, and thanking them for their help. On the other, he tried to think of what to say to Crowley. The paper stayed resolutely blank as he stared at it, his vision wavering slightly as he tried to fight off the tears that wanted to fall.

Eventually, he picked up a quill that never needed ink, and wrote a few simple words.

_I love you._

_I’m sorry to be leaving._

He summoned a redcap to deliver Beelzebub’s message, folded Crowley’s and left it on top of the desk where he’d find it, and then took a last look around at the place that had become his home, before leaving and pulling the door closed behind him.

Now to find the stables, get himself a ride to the tor, and return home.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... there we are. There are one, maybe two chapters left. I know there are many fists shaking at the screen right now, but as I told you some chapters back, this is the middle of a longer story, and this story has been heading to this moment since the very beginning of part two. In fact I wrote most of the last conversation between them somewhere between chapters two and three. It took me this long to twist and turn them and make it believable for both of them to get to this point and make the decisions they make and respond as they do. 
> 
> Rest assured, though, that their story is not over. And we have 1-2 more chapters to go and then an entire part three ahead. And we have now reached Crowley's lowest moment, and the only way to go from here is up. 
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading, and please don't build an effigy of me and drive pins into it for this one. :) Love to you all!


	22. Reckoning: Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Crowley adjusts to life alone, with varying degrees of success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have moved out the chapter count. :) This was going to be one last chapter but it's HUMONGOUS and I've split it into a Crowley chapter and then an Ezra chapter, and then probably an epilogue. Did you really believe me it was going to be over this fast?
> 
> **Modified in Jan 2021 to change the timeline of this a little bit.***

After the catastrophe with Ezra, Lord Crowley wandered the battlements of the castle for hours, staring into the night, purposeless and adrift. He considered letting out a howl to ease some of his pain (or at least share it by terrifying the residents of the keep), but the pain within him seemed to be more the silent type. He felt dull inside, compressed beneath the enormity of what had just happened. He had offered Ezra his heart in both hands, the opportunity for them to have the long, happy life they should have been able to have, and Ezra had rejected it.

Rejected him. 

Even so, he wanted to go back to him, right now, to hold him and tell him it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t even picture Ezra’s face without overlaying it with a veil of his impending death. He would be driven crazy by the knowledge that Ezra had chosen that, a short life and an inevitable death, over the idea of more time together.

He couldn’t go home. And he couldn’t talk about this to anyone else at court. He could think of only one place he could go, much as the thought discomfited him.

He steeled himself to show as little emotion as possible and went to knock on Beelzebub’s door.

\--

Beelzebub let him in without question and appeared to find nothing ironic in the fact that the man who had just put them under house arrest was now asking to stay for a few nights. They set him up in a guest room and gave him space; he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, not at first. Over the next few days, though, little bits of it came out. The elixir. The arguments. The breakup.

Even Beelzebub, who had always dared to ask the questions that needed to be asked, hesitated to meddle in something this huge. Who were they to counsel anyone else on relationship issues? Look what they had done on their own, creating this impossible muddle with Juliet. Instead, Beelzebub set a servant to watch Crowley’s quarters, and to let them know when Ezra appeared to have gone home.

“He’s left,” Beelzebub said, on the third day. “In case you were wondering.”

Crowley looked up from his meal with an impenetrable expression. “Ah,” he said quietly. “That’s… good. I appreciate you loaning me a chamber for a few days.”

“Will you return home now?” Beelzebub asked.

“I suppose there’s no reason not to,” Crowley said. “You’ll be relieved to have your apartments to yourself again.”

“On the contrary,” Beelzebub said, “I’m more used to having company. It’s been quite some time since I’ve lived alone.”

Crowley took a bite of bread and did his best to chew and swallow even though the taste was like sawdust on his tongue and he could already tell it would settle in his belly like a rock. “We shall both have to get used to it, in that case,” he said, raising his wine goblet in a salute. “Here’s to adapting.”

Beelzebub raised their own goblet and met his. They both took a sip, avoiding direct eye contact.

\--

Crowley made his way back to the royal apartments shortly after the meal, wondering what he would find. Had Ezra left in a fit of passion, breaking things like he had with the kitchen crockery? Had he taken any priceless possessions for revenge? Somehow, he doubted it. It didn’t seem like Ezra to do either of those things.

He saw the envelope immediately; it stopped him in his tracks and made the blood pound in his ears. He could hardly bring himself to touch it, aware of the recriminations it was likely to contain. He wasn’t sure he could face that yet. Instead he tucked it into an inner pocket and looked through the rest of their – his – home.

The apartment was neat and orderly; the kitchen had been tidied and the bed was handily made. Ezra had taken very little – just his personal belongings. His throat tightened when he found Ezra’s court wardrobe still hanging in the closet. It appeared that he’d left with a few small trinkets that were his by right, but with little else. Crowley left their shared bedroom and wandered into the chamber that had been Ezra’s at the start. It too was neat and tidy, stripped of personal items; it felt utterly empty. Crowley felt an irrational hatred for the room, and he slammed and locked the double doors that connected it to his chamber. He would not be going there again.

Finally, lacking anything else to do, he went to the study, poured himself a strong drink, and sat down to open the envelope.

> _I love you._
> 
> _I am sorry to be leaving._

Damn you, Ezra, he thought. He should burn it. But somehow, he couldn’t.

\--

He found he kept thinking of the prophecies they – Ezra – had found. He dug through his desk where he knew he had a parchment with several of them written down.

It was always easier to read prophecy in retrospect, Crowley thought. The first two were easy to interpret now – one clearly about the effects of Adam on Earth and his mother in Fae reaching out for each other and bending reality between them. One he didn’t care to examine too closely anymore was clearly about the events in the cavern and Griane’s death. But the last one -- he took another swallow before moving on to the last one.

> _One shall betray, one shall pass,  
>  and one shall leave of his own accord  
> before the dark is brought to the frenzy of war._

One shall betray – Beelzebub.

One shall pass – Griane.

One shall leave of his own accord – obviously, this was Ezra.

Ezra, who he’d loved and welcomed into his life and realm, who he’d offered his heart and his most precious gifts. Ezra, who’d walked away. He knew he was oversimplifying the situation between them; he knew there was more to it. But damn it all, this is how it felt. He’d gambled, and he’d lost. It ached.

He stared into the fire for most of the night.

\--

While they might not pry into Crowley’s personal life, Beelzebub nonetheless felt compelled to bring up the war. They’d promised Ezra to try to stop this. He took their next meeting as the first opportunity to address it.

“We’re not signing this declaration of war today,” Beelzebub told Lord Crowley, as firmly as possible. “It’s not the right moment.”

Crowley looked at them blankly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying for once in your life, take my advice.” Beelzebub fixed him with a steady gaze. “Take a week. Breathe. Attend to the court. Let Lady Sandalphon stew with her insult unanswered.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Crowley said. “That could look like weakness.”

“It could also look like it’s beneath your notice. You know she’s expecting you to do something rash and explosive,” Beelzebub said shrewdly. “It will play right into her hand if you do.”

Crowley mulled that one over.

“And if you do nothing?” Beelzebub continued. “It will make her insane. She’ll be beside herself waiting for the blow to fall.”

One corner of Crowley’s mouth tilted up slightly. “I must admit that idea has some appeal. I’d enjoy knowing she’s squirming.”

Beelzebub smiled back. They’d bought a little time with that line of reasoning. It would do for now.

\--

A week later, a scrying chime pealed in his study, and Crowley leapt to his feet, splashing the wine he’d been drinking everywhere. He snapped his fingers irritably, removing the mess, then stood staring at the basin as a cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Only Ezra’s setup could reach him here, in his heavily shielded apartment. Ezra? Calling? What did that mean?

He went through a moment of lightning fast deliberation. He shouldn’t answer. His heart was broken enough. But what if he wanted to reconcile? What if he’d seen the light? No, that was unlikely. He wouldn’t call. But he was calling. What if he needed help? What if some creature had tracked him down?

He shook himself and dove into action before the opportunity was lost, murmuring a charm to answer and project the image of the scrye up onto the wall. It took a moment before he could see the image clearly – first he could make out Ezra’s kitchen, with a smudgy figure standing in front of the cupboards, and then… then he realized.

It wasn’t Ezra.

It was witch girl. Anathema.

The disappointment almost crushed him.

“Anathema?” he said, still afraid something terrible had happened. “What’s wrong? Is Ezra okay? Why are you using his basin? Is he hurt?”

“And hello to you too, Crowley,” Anathema said with a faint smile. “I see you _do_ still care.”

Crowley thought about snapping at her but couldn’t raise the energy. “Don’t toy with me, witch girl. Is everything ok?”

“No one is hurt, and no one is in danger,” she said. “But Ezra is not well. He’s spending all of his time alone, he won’t talk about what sent him home early.” She raised a brow. “What did you do to him?”

Oh, by the nonexistent stars. She was here to berate him? “It’s complicated, witch girl. I didn’t do anything to him.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

Crowley sighed. “I found a way to extend his life span so we could be together for longer. Much longer. He declined it. We separated.”

Anathema sat back and considered that one, surprised. “Did you try to force it on him?” she asked suspiciously.

Crowley glared at her. “To some degree, yes.”

He blinked in surprise to find himself speaking the truth. He immediately suspected a spell and made a warding gesture.

“And did you send him away when he wouldn’t accept it?”

“Not as directly as that, no,” Crowley said.

“You,” she said archly, “are an imbecile. Take care of yourself, Lord Crowley.”

“Take care of _Ezra_ ,” he said irritably. 

She hung up.

\--

Life at the Dark Court without Ezra was dull; he’d forgotten how boring he had found it all before Ezra came along and changed nearly everything about his life. Lord Crowley kept up a brave face of it with the court, using his increased free time to focus on administrative tasks as much as he could. At Beelzebub’s urging, he continued to delay the war. He finally got the situation in the treasury sorted out, determining how much the rebel Count Vizroth had absconded with before he was discovered -- then installed a series of barghests to oversee the gold and gems. No one was going to mess with the legendary black dogs of the North. He also got through nearly all the outstanding petitions, continued to hear fealty oaths, and worked to root out any signs of further rebellion. 

Life at home continued to be dull and empty, but somehow, something of the quiet was seeping into his soul. With the war on hold, both courts running somewhat steadily, and a lot of space and time to himself, Crowley was starting to feel something inside of him uncurl a little. He found himself revisiting memories he hadn’t thought about in centuries, of his childhood with Griane, in the garden, of their first days in the realm they’d been born to rule, and in their often testy but always entwined lives over the years. The memories sometimes made him smile, sometimes made him want to hit something, and even occasionally brought tears to his eyes.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” Crowley groused to Beelzebub one afternoon as they worked on a tithing agreement with the unaffiliated Fae. “All I do is sit around and daydream, thinking about memories and having _emotions.”_ He curdled his voice to imbue that last word with the maximum amount of scorn. “I think I’ve gone soft. Losing my mind.”

Beelzebub stared at him, trying to decide how to answer. “How old are you again?” they asked finally.

Crowley frowned. “It’s hard to tell the exact dates. Approximately two and a half millennia?”

“You’re quite a bit older than even me,” Beez said. “And I’m quite old myself. Our minds and souls are made to survive for eons, but not without rest. Perhaps you’re just – processing.”

“Processing?”

Beelzebub put down their quill. “Two thousand years of repressing your feelings under an iron will is bound to catch up with you sometime,” they said. “The Shadows only know why you haven’t exploded under the pressure. Perhaps you’re sorting through all of that garbage you’ve shoved under so you can make room for new things.”

Crowley pulled a face. “I’d rather not.”

“Well, look at where that attitude’s gotten you,” Beez replied archly.

“Watch it,” Crowley warned, but there was no heat to his tone. “By the way, I’ve made a decision,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not going to start a war,” he said, looking anywhere but at Beelzebub. “Not for now.”

Beelzebub took that in. “What changed your mind?”

“I don’t have the heart for all that pain and suffering right now,” Crowley said. “You realize you’re the only one I would say such a thing to.”

 _Not the only one_ , Beelzebub thought. _You would have said it to Ezra._

“And you were right, about not decimating Griane’s court before her return,” Crowley continued. “Lady Sandalphon can have her little trial – god knows these things move slowly enough that it could be years before the Shadow Court responds – and Michael is running the court reasonably well for now. I’ve decided it would be better to let things continue to settle.”

“We can always kill them all later,” Beelzebub said with a grin.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You’re a bloodthirsty bastard.”

“I learned from you.”

\--

Time passed. The inevitable march of feelings and memories and insights continued, and Crowley did his best to allow it to happen, never quite comfortable with it. When he wasn’t governing or processing, he slept. He slept more and deeper than he had in centuries – occasionally even for days at a time. At one point he asked for Beelzebub to cover for him while he slept for an entire fortnight.

He woke up on the fortieth day with a clear head and the urge to roll over and tell Ezra what he’d been dreaming about. He fought his way through the unruly blanket pile to do so, reaching out to lay a hand on Ezra’s back – and then he remembered. The empty side of the bed shone like a glamour, hurting his eyes and heart. Ezra wasn’t here.

He was struck by the immediate wrongness of this. It was a wrongness that clanged like a bell, deep and sonorous, vibrating in his bones and setting his teeth on edge. It was visceral, an ache in the pit of his stomach, a thud in the back of his skull.

He sat up suddenly. How long had it been? He tried to calculate. At least two months. His mind started to do a quick calculation about how much of the rest of Ezra’s limited life had already passed, then he abandoned that thought as madness-making. Instead he wrapped himself in a fur, summoned a glass of that infernal coffee liquid that witch girl was so addicted to and whose bitterness and undrinkability secretly pleased him, and went out on the balcony where he began to think furiously.

An hour later, he summoned a redcap.

“Yes, my lord?” the redcap said, bowing low.

“Get Beelzebub and bring them to my study,” Lord Crowley demanded.

The redcap vanished. Crowley threw on some clothing and a pair of boots and strode out to his outer study, where he stoked the fire high and stood staring into it.

A pop behind him alerted him to the redcap’s return. Alone.

“Lord Beelzebub begs your pardon but reports they are under house arrest,” the redcap said, looking frightened. One did not return without the item that Lord Crowley had requested. All the redcaps knew that.

“Oh, for fuck’s –” Crowley began. He snapped and materialized a scroll. “Here’s a dissolution of the house arrest. Tell them to get here right now or they’re going to be bottled for being an ass.”

The redcap nodded, disappeared, and a few moments later reappeared with Beelzebub in tow.

“Your majesty,” Beelzebub said with a smirk, bowing slightly.

Crowley glared at them. “Have I ever told you that you are an unbearable idiot?”

“I believe you may have.”

Crowley ushered Beelzebub to one of the twin leather couches framing the fire. “Sit,” he said gruffly. “I am in need of the completely undiplomatic candor that you alone possess.”

Beelzebub did so. “Sounds serious.”

“I need to ask you something,” Crowley said. Beelzebub made a go-ahead gesture and said nothing. “It has occurred to me that I may have been shortsighted in my treatment of Ezra.”

Beelzebub blinked. “Short sighted?”

“Unwise. Hasty.” Crowley said. He cleared his throat and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “Perhaps even – wrong.”

“Is there a question in there?” Beelzebub said with a hint of humor in their voice.

Crowley groaned. “Didn’t I just free you? You could at least make this easier on me.” He concentrated for a moment. “Did I make a mistake? Allowing him to leave?”

Beelzebub put down their drink and their dark eyes met Crowley’s. “You want me to answer honestly?” they said carefully.

Crowley nodded impatiently.

“Well, then, I’d have to say – yes, I believe you did.”

Crowley slumped. “Tell me.”

Beelzebub shook their head. “It’s not an easy thing for a mortal to love a Fae,” they said. “You know the stories. Most of the time it ends quite badly for them. Ezra did as well as anyone I’ve ever seen to try to adjust to not only a new relationship but a new world, a new set of customs, and dealing with creatures with powers and life spans far beyond his own.”

“He did,” Crowley said. “Not sure I ever made it easy on him.”

“Not always, no,” Beelzebub agreed, and was rewarded with a quick glare that morphed quickly into acceptance.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Crowley mumbled. “I pushed him, I rushed decisions on him that he had a right to take his time on, I hid too many things from him, I conspired behind his back on things I should have brought to him first…”

Beelzebub agreed. None of this could be argued.

“You let your grief and your pain overwhelm you,” they said, finally. “Perhaps you’re starting to see clearly now because those emotions have started to recede.”

“I’m the dark lord of the Unseelie,” Crowley said flatly, but his voice had no heat in it. “I don’t have time for grief and pain.”

“Yes,” Beelzebub said wryly. “And that’s worked out so well for you these last few years.”

Crowley grimaced. He swallowed the rest of his drink and refilled it with a gesture. “But what do I do?” he said, aware that he was revealing a level of vulnerability that, to anyone else, could get him into serious trouble. “He’s still going to die, Beez. In a handful of decades. I will lose him, and it will _hurt_.”

“You’re a bloody idiot,” Beelzebub said. “How do you not see this?”

“What?”

Beelzebub took a deep breath, clearly trying to choose their words carefully. “You’ve _already_ lost them,” they said, more harshly than intended. “You’ve decided that the pain of his eventual death is something you can’t face, so you’ve gone ahead and brought about the same exact loss and pain now. Very clever.”

Crowley looked at them, dumbfounded. “That’s not true, I’m saving myself from getting so much more attached! It’s self-preservation.”

“Oh, and it’s working so well, isn’t it?” Beelzebub snapped. “Are you in any less pain right now than you would be in fifty years?”

Crowley blinked, then blinked again.

“The only difference is you’ve decided to forgo the decades of happiness you might have had before that occurred,” Beelzebub said. “And what that makes you, to my mind, is a coward, and a fool.”

Crowley leapt up so hard that the heavy couch behind him skidded back several feet. In his anger, he seemed to grow taller, his hair and limbs sparking with electricity. “You dare to say that to me?” he shouted. “You, with all of your errors and flaws? Take that back!”

Beelzebub held their ground, staring up at Lord Crowley without so much as a flinch. “I do dare,” they said quietly. They broke eye contact to slowly look around the office at the rows and rows of bottled enemies on the wall, many of them former acquaintances and coworkers, now shrouded in mists. “You are the dread lord of the Fae, my sovereign and my liege, and the best and most successful Prince the Unseelie Court has had in recorded history. You’re also nearly my only friend. And as your friend, I must tell you – you are a fool at love.”

Crowley shrunk back down to normal size, and the buzz of power dissipated.

“Not anymore,” Crowley said. “I’m going to fix this.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“I don’t know yet,” Crowley admitted. “But I will discover the answer.”

Beelzebub nodded. “I wish you well with that, my lord,” they said. They stood up and headed for the door, then turned back. “Ezra surprised me, over the time he was here. I thought he was just a foolish mortal at first, but he had backbone. Character.” They paused. “He was good for you. I hope you can get him back.”

Crowley watched them go and then sank into the couch in exhaustion. It was time to figure out what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news -- since this started out as one gigantic chapter, the next one is already about three quarters written. I will keep plugging away and WE WILL BE DONE BEFORE CHRISTMAS! 
> 
> I have spent so much time inside these two character's heads this year that it's slightly intimidating to think about it being done. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate each and every one of you!


	23. Reckoning: Ezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra works his way through the stages of grief, rediscovers some direction in his life, and assesses his role in his own and other people's stories.

Ezra was both relieved and oddly disappointed by how easily the tor brought him home. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath of the cold evening air, glad that he had thought to bring a warm scarf. It was a crisp early December day; no snow lay on the ground yet but the trees around him were bare and the grass scrubby and brown. He could see the white puff of his breath when he exhaled. The air smelled like dead leaves and woodsmoke and he had a pang of nostalgia for the winter season.

He considered calling Anathema for a ride, but he wasn’t quite ready for the level of interrogation that would engender. It was a quite lengthy walk home from here, but he decided he could use both the exercise and the quiet. He shouldered his bag and set off for home at a brisk pace.

By the time he got to the cottage, he was comfortably warm from exertion and quite glad to see his own front door. The porch light was on, the walkway was swept clean, and the garden had been tidily put away for the season by hired hands. It looked welcoming and familiar. He let himself in and took a deep whiff of the smell of books and tea and dust.

He dropped his duffel off in a corner of the kitchen and got the kettle out to make tea, trying to ignore how hard a part of him was listening for a phone call or a scrye request to come through. Of course, none did.

He and Crowley were done. They were the very definition, at this point, of irreconcilable differences. What happened, he thought, when an immovable object met an unstoppable force?

Apparently, they break up.

The thought depressed him so much that he turned off the kettle and went immediately to bed.

\--

He was awakened sometime the next morning by someone pounding on the front door. Although his heart initially leapt, thinking it might be Crowley, he quickly realized that Crowley would almost certainly never knock. He’d just come right in, or materialize in his bedroom, or be waiting in the kitchen when he emerged. None of those things were true either. Instead, it was Anathema at the door, looking both stalwart and concerned.

“Why are you home?” she said in greeting, pushing her way inside. “You’re three weeks early.”

Ezra looked at her mutely, unable to bring himself to form the words.

“Oh,” she said. “I see.” She took his arm gently and led him to the kitchen. “I’ll make tea. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not especially,” he said, allowing himself to be placed in a chair and grimacing as he watched her go directly for his second-best stash of hidden biscuits. “Do you know where all of my treats are hidden?”

She smiled at him. “Course I do. I’m American. I can smell out a biscuit at fifty yards.”

He smiled wanly back, then stared out the back window while she puttered about making tea and filling him in on all the latest news.

“You went where?” he said, coming back to himself.

“Pendle Hill area. In Lancashire.” She placed a cup in front of him, prepared exactly in the way he preferred.

“Where the witches were?”

“Funny you should ask that,” she said, sitting down across from him and stirring her own tea in a clockwise direction, which Ezra knew from past conversations was a witchy thing designed to attract positivity. “Yes, where the witch trials were. We ended up talking to the vicar in the parish of Newchurch. It’s where a few of the witches from those trials were buried. One of them is an ancestor of mine – Agnes Nutter.”

Ezra searched his memory banks. He was certain he’d heard that name before. “She wrote prophecy, didn’t she?”

Anathema smiled. “She did. All copies of her book were lost, though, after she was burned at the stake.”

“Shame,” he said. “I could use a little prophetic wisdom right about now.”

“The vicar is supposed to get back to us after he does a little research. Would you like to come over and visit?”

Ezra looked at her, considering. “I don’t think so just yet, my dear,” he said. “I need a little time. Tell Juliet hello.”

Anathema watched him silently, wondering what had happened and how long it would before she got the details.

\--

“How was he, Ana?” Juliet asked when Anathema returned.

“He’s just… sitting there. In his cottage. Staring at things,” Anathema said. “He’s barely even reading. I’m telling you, this isn’t just a fight. Something really bad happened between them.”

Juliet frowned. “You don’t think Lord Crowley was killed, do you?”

Anathema thought about it. “No,” she said finally. “He’d be a lot more of a mess than this if that were the case. It’s more like – they broke up?”

“Oh no! That couldn’t be true could it?”

Anathema poured them both more tea. “I’m trying to decide if I should meddle or not.”

She was about to explain more when the phone rang. Anathema sighed and headed off to the kitchen to answer it.

Left to herself, Juliet closed her eyes as the voices around her began to buzz. She listened as hard as she could, then picked up her notebook and began to write.

\--

It was the vicar.

“I’ve been looking into the case of your friend’s lost relative,” he said.

“Were you able to find anything?” Anathema asked.

“Oh yes! The disappearance was quite the newsmaker in her day,” he said. “Rumored to be the work of the fairies, it was. Of course, that’s almost always the case in those days; anything we didn’t understand was the work of fairies or witchcraft. Utterly ridiculous, of course, from today’s modern scientific perspective.”

Anathema pushed aside her unique point of view about witches and made an encouraging sound. “What did you find?”

“Ah, well, it’s just that her story is quite interesting, you see,” he said, his voice rising. “The Juliet who went missing was christened as Juliet Marian Hargreaves.”

Anathema grabbed a pencil and wrote that down. “Hargreaves?”

“Yes,” the vicar said. “Just disappeared out of the blue, out for a ramble one day in 1795 and never returned. There was quite a manhunt, but nothing ever turned up and the girl was simply never seen again. There were rumors, of course, everything from foul play to an illicit love affair to ridiculous reports of her being carried off by the little people.”

Anathema faked a laugh. “Oh my,” she said. “People will get up to anything, won’t they?”

“Quite,” the vicar agreed. “But what’s truly interesting is that she was the distant descendent of one of the district’s most infamous residents – a woman who was burned at the stake for witchcraft in the mid-1600s. Quite the story there, she apparently took nearly half the crowd with her when she died, by virtue of having sewn gunpowder and nails into her apron.”

Anathema paled. This story sounded strangely familiar. “Can you tell me the name of that woman?” she asked carefully.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Everyone here knows about the witch of Suffield. Her name was Agnes Nutter.”

Anathema fumbled around behind her and reached for a chair, then sat down heavily.

Agnes Nutter.

She and Juliet were related.

\--

Ezra was sitting in front of the fire when a chime announcing a scrye sounded. Despite the fact that a part of his heart had been listening for this sound since the second he arrived home, it startled him so badly that he spilled the cup of Earl Gray he’d been sipping all over himself.

“Oh dear,” he murmured, mopping it up as best he could, and then went to the basin that he’d left set up in the corner of the kitchen, just in case. It only took a moment of concentration to focus on the inky water and receive the call.

He waited breathlessly for the caller’s face to become clear. It slowly resolved into the familiar, greyish face wreathed in black wisps that he knew as Beelzebub.

“Oh,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Hello.”

“Human,” Beelzebub said with their usual detachment. “Greetings to you from the Dark Keep.”

“Er, greetings to you as well,” Ezra said. “Is everything ok? Is Crowley all right? Why are you calling?”

Beelzebub leaned in. “This is a courtesy call,” they said. “I wanted to let you know that the war is averted.”

Ezra let out a long deep breath and felt one tendril of tension he hadn’t known he was holding release. “I am so relieved to hear it. I appreciate you letting me know.”

“As for Lord Crowley,” Beelzebub said, “he is about as you would expect. I am, as you asked, keeping an eye on him.”

Ezra felt a wave of gratitude. “I am indebted to you,” Ezra said.

Beelzebub grinned. “You should know better than to say that to a Fae, human.”

Ezra nodded. “I mean what I say. Keep him safe for me and I am yours to command.” He knew what he was saying, and he knew Crowley wouldn’t like it. What could it possibly matter now?

Beelzebub nodded gravely. “Very well. Good night.”

\--

It did not pass Ezra’s notice that Crowley sent him no message through Beelzebub. This had the effect of breaking through his sadness a little and, instead, making him feel angry at his former love. Crowley hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye to him, he realized. He’d just – stayed away, until he was sure Ezra had gone. He hadn’t deserved that. And Crowley had pushed him and prodded him and snarled at him until the conflict between them was almost inevitable. Ezra began to wonder, looking back, if he’d been the one doing all of the compromising in their relationship.

Anger felt good. It was definitely a step up from wondering whether a person could actually _die_ of heartache. He leaned into the anger, spending a few days cursing Crowley’s name and digging through his mental history for all the wrongs that had been done to him in the two years since they met. He catalogued them in a mental file and dwelt on them whenever he was feeling down.

The energy this gave him got him moving. First, he attacked the cottage in a frenzy, sweeping out a year’s worth of dust and cobwebs, cleaning out the hearth and the oven, bringing in and chopping an immense stack of wood for the winter’s fires, and doing his best to sort and organize his papers – a surprising amount of which appeared to be slightly singed. He made a mental note to ask Anathema about that, and about the odd little marks on his desk where it looked like someone had dropped a match. He opened all the windows and let the fresh air sweep through, and he went out in the back and planted a few bulbs for the next spring before the ground froze solid. And then – he walked to the local market, filled a basket with fresh greens and root vegetables and a little bit of beef, then made a rich, nutritious stew and a fresh baked loaf of bread.

He sat down at the table, in his kitchen, alone, and ate the first truly filling meal he’d had since he got home, looked around at his renewed environment and felt the beginnings of something other than pain bloom inside him. It was determination. He was Ezra Aziraphale Fell and he was stubborn as a mountain and he would get through this. No Lord of the Fae was going to break him.

\--

“He’s in the anger stage, now,” Anathema told Juliet after putting the phone down from her daily check in call to Ezra. “Next up should be bargaining, then depression, then acceptance.”

Juliet, who had rediscovered a talent for embroidery, looked up from her stitching. “This is a good thing?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Oh yes,” Anathema said. “It’s the latest in psychology. I’ll dig out a magazine for you so you can read about it.”

Juliet smiled and took another careful stitch or two. She was very much enjoying Anathema’s efforts to educate her on the modern world. She’d learned all kinds of things about aliens in the past week, and about sea monsters, and about whether the people running the country were secretly reptilian. She didn’t always understand everything Anathema gave her to read, but it was certainly entertaining.

Living with her distant cousin was proving to be a wonderful, warm feeling. She wasn’t sure what the future held for either of them, despite the many voices murmuring to her, but for now, they felt like a family. She felt safe in a way she hadn’t in years.

\--

The start of the January school term helped Ezra more than he had expected. Suddenly, his old life slipped a little more back into focus. Years of habit and training helped him to dive into lesson planning for his two literature courses he’d be teaching, and visiting his office at St. Aloysius felt like seeing an old friend again for the first time in ages. He sat behind his large desk in his worn-in leather chair and took a deep breath – the smell of paper and old books and ink soothed him immensely.

He remembered how to be _this_ person, he realized. And he _had_ missed teaching. It was good to have a task in front of him. He cracked open the notebook in front of him and began making notes about Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. 

“Ezra!” a voice said some time later, startling him out of a deep concentration.

He looked up and smiled. “Anathema! What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I suspect,” she replied. “Getting ready for next week?”

He nodded. “It feels rather good to be back at work.”

She smiled approvingly. “Good then! How about dinner at the pub after with me and Juliet?”

“All right,” he said. “Collect me on your way out?” 

\--

They bundled up in their warmest coats and walked up to the pub from the school grounds. In the early January gloom, the windows of the pub blazed invitingly with indications of warmth and companionship, and Ezra for once found himself looking forward to the company. Juliet was inside, saving them a booth, and Anathema quickly went to the bar to arrange for something to drink.

“Hello, Juliet,” Ezra said, “nice to see you again.”

Juliet held her hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

Ezra frowned. “No, my dear, you’re confused – we know each other quite well—”

“No,” Juliet said, smiling. “You haven’t heard? I’d like to introduce myself formally to you.”

Understanding dawned. “Oh, you’ve found out, have you?”

“I’m Juliet Marian Hargreaves,” she said proudly. “Scandal of Lancashire, 1795.”

Ezra took her hand and shook it. “Most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hargreaves.”

She beamed. “And there’s more,” she said, just as Anathema arrived back at the table with three pints in hand.

Ezra raised a brow. “Oh? And what could that be?”

Juliet nodded to Anathema, who sat down and took a sip of her beer. “Juliet is my – great, great, great, great, great, great something or other. Cousin of some kind. Still trying to sort out the exact details.”

Ezra choked on the swallow he’d just taken. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Well you know Agnes Nutter, my ancestor?”

“The witch?”

“The very one,” Anathema said. “Juliet is descended from her son, and I’m descended from one of her daughters’ daughters.”

Ezra eyed them both. “You know the chances of this happening are just astronomical – you two ended up meeting and living together like this, then finding out you’re kin.”

“I don’t believe it’s an accident,” Juliet said. “All the pieces were set in motion long ago to return me to the bosom of my family. You played a part too, Ezra.”

That certainly gave him something to ponder. What if, instead of being the key figure in this scenario, he was merely a footnote in someone else’s story? What if, by accidentally stumbling across realms and falling for Crowley, what he really did was meet some larger purpose meant to help rescue and restore Juliet to her senses, to her family, to her son?

It was an odd feeling, to see oneself, even momentarily, as less than the main character in the story of life, he thought. It was also somewhat freeing. He’d helped someone. He’d played a role in ending someone’s suffering and returning them to safety. He found he had a warm feeling inside that had nothing at all to do with the alcohol.

“A toast,” he said to his two friends, smiling warmly. “To finding where one belongs.”

Anathema and Juliet raised their glasses and met his.

\--

At the end of the first week of school, Ezra looked up from his desk to find Adam lurking in the door to his office. He looked taller and lankier, his chestnut-colored hair was longer and had a slight wave to it, and he looked somewhat uncertain of his welcome.

“Adam!” Ezra said with unfeigned enthusiasm. “I’ve been thinking about you. How nice of you to stop by! Come in, come in, let’s have a chat.”

Adam slunk into the room. “I haven’t seen you since the week after I finally met my mom” he said. “I never told you -- I’m sorry for trying to shoot you with lightning that night, and for setting some of your papers on fire.”

Ezra waved a hand, having already been clued in by Anathema about the small fires Adam accidentally set at his cottage. “Ancient history, my boy,” he assured him. “No harm done.” He dug out a packet of biscuits and put them on the desk between them. “Now have a nibble and tell me how you’re doing. What have you been up to?”

Adam filled him in on everything – his academics, his relationship with his adoptive father, getting to know Juliet, and his ongoing studies with Anathema. He seemed, Ezra thought, to be taking his new powers a little more in stride, and to be less at loose ends about his place in the world. It was good to see him finding himself, after all the struggles he’d gone through last fall.

“I’d like to get to know my real, well my birth dad,” Adam said, looking at him carefully. “Do you think that could happen? Would they want to talk to me?”

Ezra thought it over. “We’re in touch,” he admitted. “I could probably arrange something. I think he – they – would like that very much.”

Adam scoffed and his face darkened. “I don’t know about that. They gave me away, you know. Never looked back.” 

Ezra shook his head. “I know it feels that way, but giving you away was not a decision Beelzebub took lightly,” he said. “You’d almost certainly have been killed if they’d claimed you in the Dark Court.”

Adam looked dubious. “Maybe. Either way, I’d like to have a talk with them at some point.”

“I’d be happy to reach out for you,” Ezra said. “Let me know when you decide the time is right and I’ll see what I can do.”

Adam looked at him as if deciding whether to say something, then shrugged. “You sure you can?” he said bluntly. “I heard you and Mr. Crowley broke up over something stupid, and that no one is speaking to anyone now.”

Ezra blinked and then blinked again. “Well that’s hardly any of your concern –”

“Actually, it is, a little bit,” Adam said with the determination and self-absorption only an early teen can deploy. “Because you two are like my protectors, and if you’re not talking to each other, or even worse, at odds with each other, where does that leave me?”

Ezra almost smiled. “It leaves you exactly where you were before, my dear boy – with two devoted protectors, one on Earth and one in Fae. Plus, your biological father is there and still Crowley’s second in command, and your mother is here. As is your adoptive father, and your good friend Anathema, a witch who can now cross dimensions. You could hardly say you’re without protectors.”

Adam harrumphed. “What did he do, anyway? Crowley, I mean.”

Ezra frowned. “I really don’t think that’s an appropriate question.”

Adam continued to stare at him with wide, entreating eyes. Ezra fidgeted uncomfortably. Honestly, the child had no right – but then again, Adam wasn’t your usual child, and he had a far greater chance of understanding the issue at play than your average person would.

“Well if must know, we – we had a disagreement we couldn’t resolve.”

“Like a fight?”

“Somewhat, but more serious. You see, Crowley wanted me to –” he tried to pick his words carefully – “to change myself in a way that I couldn’t agree to. And he couldn’t bring himself to go on without what he wanted. And so, we had to part.” 

“Yes, I know, he wanted you to become immortal,” Adam said impatiently. “Anathema told me.”

“Did she now?” Ezra made a mental note to tell Anathema off later.

“What I don’t understand, though, is why you weren’t willing to even consider it!” Adam said. “I mean, immortality would be so cool!”

“You sound just like him,” Ezra said with a tinge of bitterness. “I’m human, Adam. I’m meant to be human.”

Adam eyed him for a minute, and then distracted himself by stuffing three small biscuits into his mouth, one after the other. It was obvious he was thinking as he chewed, so Ezra bit his tongue to avoid haranguing him about manners.

“Do you consider me human?” Adam asked, finally.

Ezra wrinkled his brow. “Well – technically you are not, of course, but for all the time I’ve known you I’ve thought you as primarily a human boy, yes.”

“And yet I’m not,” Adam said. “I mean, it hasn’t been the easiest thing to deal with, finding that out. But it’s also kind of cool, to suddenly find yourself with more to you than you had before.”

“I suppose it could be,” Ezra allowed.

“And – and that list of protectors you just reeled off. Is Anathema human? Even though she’s a witch who can now cross dimensions and carries the protection of a Fae queen?” Adam said shrewdly.

“Yes of course she’s human, my dear boy, what are you getting at?” Ezra said, growing a bit cross.

“And my mom,” he said. “She doesn’t age anymore, or she hasn’t in a long time. She’s what, two hundred and twenty? Does that make her less human?”

“No,” Ezra said, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please stop, you don’t fully understand what you –” 

“I just think – none of the people around you are completely normal humans. They’ve all been changed in some way by things they’ve experienced.” He leaned forward. “If they’re still human after all they’ve been through, why would you extending your life be any different?”

Ezra felt a buzzing in his brain as he tried to take this in. “It just is!” he said weakly. “This could change me in ways you couldn’t imagine. It could… it could rewrite my DNA. Make me an entirely different person. It could – it could change how I see things forever.”

Adam looked at him for a moment longer and then shrugged. He leaned down and grabbed another handful of biscuits and started shoveling them in too.

“Just seems to me,” he said as he stood up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder in preparation for leaving, “that all that’s already happened to you.”

Ezra watched him go, dumbfounded. 

\--

Ezra found himself unable to get the conversation with Adam out of his mind. Had he been to narrow in his viewpoint, to not even consider it? He still felt like Crowley had been wrong – deeply wrong -- in his approach. He could still pull up a sense of righteous indignation about how the issue had been researched in secret and thrust on him aggressively at a time of intense crisis. But as his anger faded, he began to see that he also had been stuck in the crushing grip of the never-ending emergencies they’d been surrounded with. In retrospect, he could see how the weight of unspoken things between them had made dealing with the question of his mortality insurmountable. He began to return to a bit of compassion for Crowley, for the things he’d been frightened by, and for the immensity of what he’d been going through.

It was, he conceded, somewhat possible that there might have been a middle ground, compromise they might have been able to find if the world around them wasn’t trying so hard to destroy them at every turn.

Clearly, Crowley had some growing to do and had never fully accepted his humanity the way he claimed he had. But Ezra began to ponder -- could it be that his view on what it meant to be human was a little too restrictive? Is that what Adam was trying to say?

Out of the mouth of babes, Ezra thought.

\--

This time it was he, rather than Anathema, that showed up on the other’s porch unannounced. Juliet opened the door and her eyes widened to see him there.

“Ana!” she called behind her. “It’s Ezra!” She stood aside. “Come in!”

He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at one end of the long table, while Juliet fussed with getting a cup of some kind of tea he couldn’t identify; it had a spicy, rich, woodsy taste and he suspected that Juliet had brewed it herself from plants she’d gathered.

Anathema showed up a few minutes later wiping paint from her hands onto a linseed-soaked rag and plopped down in a chair beside him. “Ezra!” she said. “What’s happened?”

“I have a feeling,” he said, “that I made a mistake. Pushing back so hard in the moment, to Crowley, when he challenged me. Like maybe we would have gotten to the right spot if I’d just given it some time.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Where’s this coming from?”

He filled her in on the conversation with Adam.

She snorted. “Well first of all, don’t take relationship advice from a barely post-pubescent boy. And second, maybe you might have made an error or two. But Crowley made more of them. What was he thinking, trying to pressure you into this kind of a thing? I just want to shake him.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Ezra grumbled. “But that’s also just it. I don’t think he was thinking at all at that point. He was out of his mind with grief. Losing his sister, losing his best friend, then having to take on both courts and being publicly accused of murdering Griane. He’d been under such immense pressure for such a long time.” He stopped and tried to tamp down the depth of his feelings before he lost control of them. “I should have understood him better.”

Anathema shook her head. “You were always heading for this split, Ezra. Honestly, do you think you can just fall for an immortal prince of another realm and not have to grapple with these questions of life and death? Whether you were aware of it or not, this was always right under the surface for both of you. It would have happened at some point now matter how hard you’d tried to be understanding or how much you both tried to avoid it.”

Juliet finished whatever she was doing at the stove and sat down across from them, listening with interest.

“What would _you_ do,” he asked them both, “if you were offered eternal life? Or nearly so? Would you jump on it? Consider it? Dismiss it out of hand?”

Juliet spoke first. “I think at the time that I first met Lord Bee, I would have jumped in without thinking it through very deeply. I was always a bit impulsive that way, or I never would have ended up in the Fae realms to begin with."

Anathema took longer to consider it. “I don’t think I’d want to live forever,” she said slowly. “Too many unknowns in that. You could end up being the only living thing after the universe is gone. The loneliness! It would be insurmountable.”

Ezra nodded. “I thought of those scenarios too.”

“But,” Anathema said, “I suppose I’d consider it. If there were less extreme ways to consider extending a lifetime, I think I’d be willing to look into it.”

“Would you? Really?” Ezra said.

“Of course! I’m curious by nature,” Anathema said. “There’s more to learn and experience than anyone can do in a single lifetime. You can’t even read all the books you want to read in one go, can you? A little extra time, even another hundred years or two, would probably be a great adventure.”

Ezra sipped his tea and thought. “But you’d outlive everyone you knew. You’d lose everything, one by one.”

“Not everyone,” she said. “Not Crowley, and possibly not Juliet. You’d lose some people, and gain others along the way. It could be worth it, in the long run, if the price isn’t too high.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” Ezra said, “but the price worries me too.”

Anathema leaned forward, focusing on him intently. “If you decide you’re open to this,” she warned him, “you do not take or even touch this elixir, once they find it, without doing some rigorous testing. I mean magical testing, testing on animals or plants, maybe testing if there’s a willing and informed creature. No way do you just up and swallow it, do you hear me?”

Ezra huffed. “My dear, of course not. However, I don’t think my perspective on the question matters a whit, at this point, since the offer to extend my life no longer stands, and the person I would have been extending it for no longer wants me.”

Anathema narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t be too sure about either of those things.”

Juliet smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much, either of you,” she said innocently. “I’m fairly certain this all works out quite nicely in the end.”

They both looked at her. 

“What does _that_ mean?” Anathema asked.

Juliet smiled again, rose from the table, and went into the living room to play with the cat, humming an odd piece of music. She made no further answer, lost to her thoughts.

“It’s not always easy living with a prophetess,” Anathema said quietly.

“Yes, I can see that,” Ezra said.

\--

Ezra woke from a deep sleep with two sensations – one, it was bitterly cold. He cracked open an eye and looked out the window and noted that the first snow appeared to be falling. It was a thick, heavy snow with large flakes, and for a moment he blissfully watched a few flakes drift by the windowpane.

His reverie was interrupted by the second reason he’d awoken – an intense pounding from the front door that renewed itself after a short pause.

Oh bother, he thought. Does Anathema never give up? Honestly, he was fine. More than fine. It had been two and a half months and he was recovering nicely, thank you very much. Still, she insisted on calling him almost daily and barging in on him unannounced at least twice a week, harassing him into coming over for dinner, and generally pestering him within an inch of his tolerance.

Damn it all, he loved her for it. He did. But still, sleep was sleep, and he was tired of his getting interrupted.

He rolled out of bed, wrapped a navy tartan robe around himself and tied the sash tightly, put on his favorite slippers, and stomped his way to the front door where the knocking continued unabated.

“Now listen here!” he said sternly as he pulled on the knob. He barely even looked up as he began his tirade. “I appreciate your concern, but it is ridiculously early, and I am absolutely fi –”

He froze.

He had to be hallucinating.

Standing there, snow heaping on his shoulders, was a familiar, lanky, slouching shape that had haunted his dreams for the last several months. Crowley. It looked exactly like Crowley. The Prince of the Unseelie, knocking on his door like a postulant, and looking right nervous about it too.

Ezra’s heart and brain slammed to a halt.

“Hello Ezra,” the hallucination said with a faint smile, doing a very credible impersonation of the real thing.

Ezra poked his head out the door and looked around, looking for the trick or the trap or the creatures behind this. He simply could not believe that this was real.

“This isn’t funny,” he shouted. “Whoever this is, making it look like Crowley is here, on my bloody doorstep. In the snow! I know for certain that the real Crowley would never knock.” He glared at the creature in front of him. “Reveal yourself, foul fiend. Who are you, really?”

Crowley’s face creased in confusion. “What the – Ezra, it’s me! It’s really me!” He stamped his feet on the mat and tried to shake off some of the snow. “And what in the bloody hell is this white stuff? And why wouldn’t I knock? I have manners! At least sometimes.”

Ezra stared. “Oh my god,” he said slowly. “It’s really you.”

Crowley looked at him like a pilgrim reaching the shrine at last, like a man awaking from a certain death to find himself healing, like a lost child catching sight of safe havens. He looked delighted and scared and utterly stricken.

“I have so much I want to tell you,” Crowley said, his voice gravelly. “I’ve realized so many things since you left. I know you have no reason to want to talk to me, but I was hoping maybe you’ll listen?”

Ezra, unable to shake the feeling that this was some sort of dream, found himself still staring. He was fairly sure his mouth was open. He tried to shake himself back to consciousness without success.

Crowley looked almost heartbroken at the silence and dropped his hands to his side, defeated. At that moment, a patch of snow slid off the roof and landed on his head with a wet plop. He shook his head to dislodge it, sending water everywhere, and then sneezed explosively.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he said, turning around to go.

“Crowley,” Ezra burst out. 

Crowley froze, then slowly turned back around.

Ezra held out a hand to him, and the world slowed down to a crawl as Crowley looked at his hand, uncomprehendingly, then looked at his face, then looked at his hand again – and then the tiniest hint of a smile lit up his face as he stepped forward to take it, allowing himself to be ushered inside, with the door shut behind him to block out all that wasn’t warm and welcoming.

He had the strangest sensation of returning to one’s hearth, of finding respite and peace after a long, difficult journey.

It was good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎉🎉🎉OMG - this is it, we have come to the end of part two! 🎉🎉🎉
> 
> Unless I write an epilogue. I had one planned but my beta has begged me to let it rest here. :) We shall see if I have the self control to adhere to this. She's right though, what I was planning to do in the epilogue could easily be covered in the beginning of part three, AND it gives me the advantage of knowing exactly where I want to start that round. This is a benefit even I can't overlook. 
> 
> I’m taking a break, probably writing some short, easy things, and will start working on part three in 2021! Stay tuned!
> 
> My deepest thanks to each and every one of you who has read and clicked kudos or left a comment or even just thought positively about this story! And as always, many many thanks to my lovely beta and friend, Zeck, who now knows that when I say a chapter will DEFINITELY not be done today, that means the muse is about to dump ten more pages and I'm not only going to finish it but also expect her to read it at 1 a.m., and that I am going to ask her halfway through why she's taking so long ("do you want me to do this fast, or do you want me to do this right, Meg?"), and that I am an incredible pain in the ass. ❤️❤️❤️


End file.
